



PR 






Author 



Title 



Imprint 



u^ L.< 




C0PY,^;GHT, 1889, BY HAROLD ROORBACM 



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1. ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD. A comic drama in two acts. Six 

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"OUR BOYS" 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 
HENRY J> 'BYRON 



New American Edition, Correctly Reprinted from the 
Original Authorized Acting Edition, with the Original 
Cast of the Characters, Argument of the Play, 
Time of Representation, Description of the 
Costumes, Scene and Property Plots, Dia- 
grams OF the Stage Settings, Sides of 
Entrance and Exit, Relative Posi- 
tions of the Performers, Expla- 
nation OF the Stage Direc- 
tions, ETC., AND ALL OF 

the Stage Business 



,n 



i^ 



Copyright, 1890, by Harold Roorbach. 





NEW YORK 

HAROLD ROORBACH 

PUBLISHER 




"OUR BOYS." J^ 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



t>v 



Sir Geoffry Champneys (a County Magnate') 

Talbot Champneys {his Son) 

Perkyn Middlewick, of Devonshire House (a 

retired Butterman) 
Charles Middlewick {his Son) 
Kempster {Sir Geoffrfs Man Servant) 
PoDDLES {Middlewick' s Butler) 
Violet Melrose {an Heiress) 
Mary Melrose {her poor Cousin) 
Clarissa Champneys {Sir Geoffrfs Sister) 
Belinda {a Lodging House Slave) 



Vaudeville TTieatre^ 

Strand, London, 
January i6, 187^. 

Mr. William Farren. 
Mr. Thomas Thome. 

Mr. David James. 
Mr. Charles Warner. 
Mr. W, Lestocq. 
Mr. Howard. 
Miss Kate Bishop. 
Miss Roselle. 
Miss Sophie Larkin. 
Miss Cicely Richards. 



Time of Representation — Two Hours. 



Act I. AT THE BUTTERMAN'S. 

Act H. AT THE BARONET'S. 



Seven months are supposed to have elapsed. 



ACT HI— MRS. PATCHEM'S THREE-PAIR BACK. 



''OUR BOYSr 3 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Perkyn MlDDLEWlCK is a retired butterman ignorant and coarse in 
manner, but kind and generous of heart. SiR Geoffry Champneys, a 
county magnate proud of his birth and position and tolerating Middlewick 
only because of his wealth, has come to the latter's house to await the 
arrival of their two sons, " Our Boys," who, while travelling on the conti- 
nent, have met in Paris and are now coming home together. It seems that 
young Middlewick, while at Bonn, had met a Miss Violet Melrose, 
young, handsome and rich, who is now visiting SiR Geoffry's sister 
Clarissa, An attachment had sprung up between the two young people ; 
but, owing to a quarrel involving a duel with a student, he had concealed 
his identity from her. 

The action begins with the arrival of "Our Boys." Charles Middle- 
wick, a bright and dashing young fellow, is overHowing with enthusiasm 
at what he has seen, and most demonstrative at meeting his old dad again. 
Talbot Champneys, on the contrary, is rather plain in looks, dull, very 
near-sighted, greatly over-dressed and, to use his own expression, some- 
what of a muff — but withal good-hearted and not without common sense. 

Sir Geoffry has mapped out a parliamentary career for his son, and 
determined to marry him to Violet Melrose, to which arrangement 
Talbot, never having seen the young lady, naturally objects. With 
Violet is her cousin Mary Melrose, a frolicsome country girl, beautiful 
in face and figure but poor in purse; and it is Sir Geoffry's constant 
anxiety that, by some chance, Talbot may fall in love with her. Violet, 
being greatly shocked at old Middlewick's lack of breeding, coarse man- 
ners and abominable grammar, snubs him unmercifully on meeting him; 
this so angers Charles that he retaliates by devoting himself to Mary, to 
the delight of Middlewick who deems her worth a thousand of her 
haughty cousin. Charles, in spite of Violet's aversion to his father, 
which he cannot believe real, still loves her. But old Middlewick, on 
finding that Charles is devoted to the young lady, orders him to drop her 
at once. Sir Geoffry, meanwhile, having commanded Talbot to insinuate 
himself into Violet's good graces. But "Our Boys" and our girls mate 
contrary to orders; whereupon SiR Geoffry tells his son to go and starve, 
Middlewick follows suit by disowning Charles, and the two boys depart 
leaving the girls in a state of utter despair, while the old men are congrat- 
ulating themselves and each other on being downright Roman fathers. 

Seven months later finds " Our Boys " in the garret of a third rate London 
lodging house, thin, shabby and otherwise showing extreme poverty, but 
firm in the resolution not to apply to their relatives for aid. During their 
absence from their lodgings. Sir Geoffry and Middlewick appear, hav- 
ing learned of their sons' whereabouts, and listen to an account of their 
pitiable condition from Belinda, a comical maid-of-all-work, which brings 
them to the verge of relenting, each waiting for the other to break down 
first. Hearing steps outside, they retire hastily just as Clarissa comes in ; 
she brings a fowl with her and, in company with Belinda goes to the 
kitchen to prepare it, leaving her bonnet on a chair. Violet and Mary 
now appear and, on seeing the bonnet, suspect " Our Boys" of being false ; 



4 ' ''OUR BOYSr 

so that on the boys' return a stormy scene ensues, ending by the girls 
indignantly taking their departure. The two fathers, though unable, from 
their place of conceahnent, lo understand what has been said, have recog- 
nized female voices and, coming out of their ambush, upbraid their sons as 
profligates, whereupon they, in turn, are ordered off the premises. The 
two girls now return, after discovering their mistake, heartily ashamed of 
their suspicions; Aunt Clarissa follows, and explanations ensue. Old 
MiDDLEWiCK breaks down completely, declaring that he can play the 
Roman father no longer, and Sir Geoffry soon follows his lead. The 
reconcilliation is now complete, and the would-be Roman fathers recognize 
their mistake in attempting to regulate the matrimonial arrangements of 
"Our Boys," 

COSTUMES. 
Act I. 

Sir Geoffry Champneys. — Fashionable walking suit, cane, gloves, 
etc., gray wig, and gray side whiskers and mustache. Watch. Eye- 
glasses. 

Talbot Champneys. — Velvet coat and vest, light trousers, eye-glasses, 
flashy necktie, blonde wig parted in centre, blonde side whiskers and small 
blonde mustache. Wears eye-glasses. 

Perkyn Middlewick. — Light coat and vest, dark trousers, bald wig, 
short reddish hair, also short reddish side whiskers. 

Charles Middlewick. — Fashionable walking suit, black wig and 
mustache, gloves, etc. 

PoDDLES. — Full dress. Carries watch. 

Kempster. — Livery. 

Violet. — Handsome walking dress. 

Mary. — Suit somewhat plainer than Violet's. 

Clarissa. — Old lady's dress. 

Act II. 

All in full evening dress, Middlewick's coat and vest trimmed with 
brass buttons. 



Act III. 

Sir Geoffry, — Overcoat, high hat and cane. 
Talbot. — Short gray suit, quite shabby. 
Middlewick. — Large ulster, old-fashioned hat, cane, etc. 
Charles, — Dark suit, quite shabby. 
Violet and Mary. — Plain walking dresses, 

Clarissa. — Plain dress and shawl, very large bonnet trimmed with 
quite an assortment of flowers. 



''OUR BOYSr 5 

Belinda. — Old shabby short dress, torn apron, shoes unbuttoned, face 
and arms smeared with dirt, hair generally mussed up. 

PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Cigar for Talbot Champneys. Furniture as per scene plot. 

Act II. — Money to rattle in Middlewick's pocket. Pipe and tobacco 
for Talbot. Furniture as per scene plot. 

Act III. — Small piece of looking-glass and old shoe on mantel. Box 
of blacking and brushes. Books, writing materials and roll of Mss. on 
table R. Coal scuttle, with a little coal, shovel, tongs, hearth broom and 
poker at fire. Empty coal scuttle for Belinda. Printed papers. Basket 
and eatables for Clarissa. Tray. Remains of breakfast on table, r. c, 
common teapot with broken spout, part of a loaf of bread, two egg cups 
with shells, brown sugar in old cup, small piece of butter, etc. Furniture 
as per scene plot. 

STAGE SETTINGS. 

Act I. 



Garden Backing 

•"I^Wojr' ' Doors " ' — — ^ndofr-> 

Chair 



— ' Lfoors " ' — 'mn<iofr' 1 

hair Chair \ 

J. ^^ Ana-Cbair Tahle iiCbairs , 



I Chair 
Doer 



Act II. 



Conserralory Backing 
f Rndotr^ Doors ^indoiv 

^'^ /ti.f -^''".^^ Arm-ChaP ' Door 

>Umr r\ ^" ^^ ^. 1 

OHomnl*\^ ^^ 1 



'*6>^ 


UR boys: 

Act III. 






Sireei Backing 

Windoyr. 


Corn 

_^Door 


idor Backing 


L ♦■♦ 

J. Table SChairs 
— J Table 


ArraChairX 

Door 



SCENE PLOT. 

Act I. — Drawing-room in Middlewick's house, boxed in 3 c, backed 
with garden drop in 4 g. Double doors c. in flat. French windows r. 
and L., in flat. Doors r. 2 e. and l. 2 e. Chairs against flat between 
doors and windows. Chair R., up stage. Arm chair R. C. Table and 
chairs l. C, Arm chair L., down stage. Sofa down R. 

Act II. — Drawing-room in Sir Geoffry's house, boxed in 3 G., 
backed with conservatory in 4 g. Double doors c, and French windows 
R. and L. in flat. Doors r. 2 e. and L. 2 E. Fireplace, mantel and mirror 
R. I E. Statues on pedestals against flat between doors and windows. 
Sofa down l. Arm chaiis r. and l. Chair up r. One tete-a-tete up L.; 
another c, with ottoman before it. 

Act III. — Shabby sitting-room boxed in 3 a, with corridor and street 
backings in 4 g. Door l. C, and window R. c, in flat. Doors R. 2 e. and 
L. I E. Fireplace, mantel and stove L. 3 E. Shabby old arm chair by 
stove. Table and chairs up R. c, with remains of breakfast. Small table 
and chair down R. Chair up L. 

STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

The player is supposed to be facing the audience, r., means right; l., 
left; C, centre; R. C, right of centre ; i.. c, left of centre ; D, F., door in 
the flat or scene running across the back of the stage ; R. F., right side of 
the flat; l. f,, left side of the flat; r. d., right door; L. D., left door; 
c. D., centre door; i e., first entrance ; 2 E., second entrance; U. E., upper 
entrance ; i, 2, or 3 g., first, second or third grooves ; up stage, towards the 
back J DOWN STAGE, towards the audience. 

R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 

Note. — The text of this play is correctly repi-inted from the original 
authorized acting edition, without change. The introduction has been 
carefully prepared by an expert, and is the only part of this book pro- 
tected by copyright. 




"OUR BOYS." 



ACT I 



Scene. — Handsomely furnished drawing-room at Middlewick's 
house — PODDLES enters, L. D. 

Pod. [after pause , looking at w ate h^ Half-past two, I do declare, 
and the young gents not arrived yet ; train's late, no doubt. No 
wonder master's anxious; I dare say Sir Geoffry's just as anxious 
about his dear son. Bless me, to hear 'em talking about " Our 
Boys,'' as they call 'em, one would think there were no other sons 
and heirs in the whole country but these two young gents a com- 
ing home to their governors this afternoon. 

Enter, Kempster, c. 

Kemp. Mr. Poddies, any news of the young gents yet ? Sir 
Geoffrey has just driven over, and 

Pod. They ought to be here by this time. Mr. Charles wrote 
mentioning the time and — (Sir Geoffry Champneys pushes past 
him and enters, c. ) 

Sir G. What a time you are, Kempster. Why don't you let me 
know if Mr. 

Kemp. I beg your parding, Sir Geoffry; I were just inquiring 
of 

Sir G. Yes, yes, get back to the carriage, (exit Kempster, — to 
PoDDLEs) Is your master in ? 

Pod. I'll see, Sir Geoffry. If you will be seated, Sir Geoffry, 
I'll Exit, L. D. 

Sir G. [pacing the room ii7ipatiently and looking at watch and 
fidgeting) Yes, yes. The train's late ; but I suppose they won't 
— Why hasn't Talbot answered my letter? Why does he keep 
me on the rack ? He knows how anxious I am. Haven't set eyes 



8 ''OUR BOYSr 

on the dear boy for three years, and I'm longing to hear his views 
on men and things. They'll be the same as mine, I know. 

Enter, Miss Clarissa Champneys, c. — the Baronet s sister— an 
elderly young lady. 

Clar. I couldn't refrain ^"om following you, Geoffry. I am so 
anxious about the dear boy. 

Sir G. [tetchily) Of <:^//r^^ you're anxious. /'?/« anxious, 

Clar. And I've no doubt Mr. Middlewickis just as anxious about 
his dear boy. 

Sir G. Clarissa, I'm surprised at you. Because these young men 
happen to have met recently in Paris, and are coming home in 
company, that is no reason why you should link them together in 
that ridiculous manner. My son comes of an ancient honored 
race. The other young man is the son of a butterman. 

Clar. A retired one, remember. 

Sir G. Impossible ! A butterman can t retire. 

You may break, you may shatter the tub if you will, 
But the scent of the butter will hang by it still, 

Mr. Middlewick is a most estimable person, — charitable — as he 
ought to be ; and has considerable influence in the neighborhood. 

Clar. Which accounts for your tolerating him. 

Sir G. I admit it. The dream of my life has been that my boy 
Talbot should distinguish himself in Parliament. To that end I 
mapped out a complete course of instruction for him to pursue ; 
directed him to follow the plan laid down implicitly ; never to veer 
to the right or left, but to do as I bid him, — hke — like 

Clar. Like a machine. 

Sir G. Eh? Yes, like a machine. Machines never strike. 

Clar. I hope he'll answer your expectations. Considering his 
advantages, his occasional letters haven't been remarkable, have 
they? [aside) Except for brevity — which, in /n'^case, has not been 
the soul of wit. 

Sir G. Dear ! dear ! Clarissa, what a woman you are ! What 
would you have of the boy ? His letters have been a little short, 
but invariably /?7/2j. I don't want my son to be a literary man. 
I want him to shine in politics and 

Clar. Suppose Mr. Middlewick' s views regarding his son are 
similar. Supposing he wants him to shine in politics. 

Sir G. Clarissa, you seem to take a great interest in Mr, Middle- 
wick, A man without an H to his back, A man who — who eats 
with his knife, who behaves himself in society hke an amiable 
gold-digger, and who 

Clar. Who is coming up the path. So moderate your voice, 
Geoffry, or he'll hear you. 



''OUR Bovsr 9 

Sir G. You're a very irritating woman, Clarissa, and I don't — 
don't 

Mr. Perkyn Middlewick appears at French windows — he is a 
sleek, comfortable mati of about fifty . 

Mid. Hah ! Sir Geoffry, glad to see you. Miss Champneys, 
your 'umble servant, {^shakes hands ; '^Y^Q^O'e^'SCi shakes hatids 
distantly, Miss Clarissa warmly) Phew! ain't it 'ot? awful 'ot. 

Sir G. [loftily, R.) It is very warm. 

Mid. (c.) Warm! /call it 'ot. [to Clarissa) What d^o you call 
it? 

Clar. /call it decidedly " /^ot." 

Mid. That's what /say. / say it's 'ot. Well, Sir Geoffry, any 
noosi 

Sir G, No NEWS. 

Mid. No noos ! Ain't you heard from your son ? 

Sir G. Not a line. 

Mid. Oh, my boy's written me a letter of about eight pages. 
He'll be here soon ; I sent the shay. 

Sir G. Sent the what? 

Mid. The shay — the shay. 

Sir G, Oh, the chaise? 

Mid. No, only one of 'em. They'll be here directly. What's 
the good of Charley writing me a letter with half of it in foreign 
languages? Here's a bit of French here, and a morsel of 'Talian 
there, and a slice of Latin, I suppose it is, further on, and then a 
something out of one of the poets^leastways, I suppose it is, for it's 
awful rubbish — then, lor! regler rigmarole altogether. S'pose he 
done it to show as the money wasn't wasted on his eddication. 

Sir G. [with satisfaction) Hah ! rather different from tny son. 
He prefers to reserve the fruits of his years of study until he can 
present them in person. Your son, Mr. Middlewick, has followed 
the example of the strawberry sellers and dazzled you with the dis- 
play of the top. Perhaps when you search below you may find 
the contents of the pottle not so satisfactory, [goes up) 

Mid. [down, C, aside) Mayhap I may. Mayhap the front tubs 
is butter and the rest dummies. When I first started in business 
I'd the finest stock in Lambeth — to look at. But they was all 
sham. The tubs was 'oiler if you turned 'em round, and the very 
yams was 'eartless delooders. Can Charley's letter be? — No, I 
won't believe it. 

Clar. [aside to him) Don't, dear Mr. Middlewick, don't, [goes 
up in pleasing confusion) 

Mid. [aside) Tliat's a very nice, sensible woman. It ain't the 
first time she's been civil to 7ne. I'll play the polite to her if it's 
only to rile old poker-back, [goes up to her, l.) 

Sir G. [down, R.) I knew " our boys" would drive here first, 



lO ''OUR Bovsr 

Mr. Middlewick, which must be my excuse for this intrusion, and 

[noise of a carriage driving up heard) Here they are! here 

they are ! 

Mid. [goes up to window) That's them ! that's them ! 

Sir G. (r. ) I feel actually faint, Clarissa, [sinks on sofa) The 
thought of seeing my dear, handsome, clever boy again is — is 

Clar. [aside) Don't exhibit this ridiculous weakness, Geoffry. 

Sir G. Before a tradesman, too. You are right, [rises) 

Mid. I feel a bit of a — sort of a — kind of a fluttering jnyself. 

Enter, Charles Middlewick, at l. d. 

Char. Father! Dad! Dear old governor ! [rushes to his father' s 
arms) 

Mid. My boy! My boy! [embraces him ; they are detnonstrative 
in their delight — Charley is a hatuisome, gallant young fellow) 

Sir G. Yes but where's iny son? Where's Talbot? 

Enter, Talbot Champneys, l. — he is a washed-out youth, with 
yellow-reddish hair parted down the middle ; a faint effort at a 
fluffy whisker and moustache ; dreadfully over-dressed, and has a 
limp look generally ; an eye-glass, and a soft na?nby-pamby manner. 

Sir G. Talbot, my dear boy, I'm so delighted to 

Tal. Yes, yes ; how are you ? Bless my life, how grey you've 
got — shouldn't have known you. And that's not Aunt Clarissa ? 
Dear, dear ! such an alteration in three years — shouldn't have 
known you. [kisses her; they turn aside conversing) 

Mid. (l.) Well, Charley, old boy, how do I look, eh? Pretty 
'arty, for an old 'un ? 

Char. Yes, yes, splendid, [to him, aside) i%arty, dad, /zearty. 

Mid. Well, I said 'arty. And you, Charley — there! Crowed 
out of all knowledge. 

Char, [aside) Crowed — hem! [seejns annoyed at his father s ignor- 
ance — aside to him) " Grown," governor, " grown." 

Mid. Ain't got nothing to groan for. [aside) Rum notions they 
pick up abroad. But, Charley, you ain't introduced me to your 
friend, Mr. Talbot. Do the /mnors, do the honors. 

Char. Talbot, this is my father. 

Mid. Proud to know you, sir. 

Tal. [through his glass) How do ? how do? 

Mid. 'Arty as a buck, and fresh as a four-year-old, thankee. 
Hope we shall see a good deal of you, Mr. Talbot — any friend of 
my son's 

Sir G. [comes down, R.) Yes, exactly, Mr. Middlewick. Flat- 
tered, I'm sure, but our boys' Hues of hfe will be widely apart, I 
expect. Your son, I presume, will embark in commerce, whilst 
mine will, I trust, shine in a public and, excuse me for adding, a 
more elevated sphere. 



''OUR BOYSr II 

Mid. [aside, L. C.) Yes, he looks like a shiner. 

Clar. But, Geoffry, probably Mr. Middlewick and his son would 
like to be alone a little, so 

Mid. Just so. {aside) She is a sensible woman, [to them) I 
shouldn't mind if you did "get out" for a short time. 

Sir G. Exactly. I want a talk with Talbot too, and as the 
ponies are put up, Talbot, we'll have a stroll through the 
grounds. 

Tal. I don't mind. Only I'm jolly hungry, that's all. 

Exit, c. andK., with Sir Geoffry Champneys. 

Mid. [aside to Clarissa) Miss Champneys, what's your candid 
opinion of your nephew? 

Clara. A nmnskull ! Exit, C. and R. 

Mid. She is a sensible woman. Charley, not to put too fine a 
point upon it, your friend's 2, fool. I say it deliberately, Charley, 
he's a /z'ass. 

Char. [deprecatiUi^ly) Oh, dad ! 

Mid. And his father destines him for apubhc career. Ha ! ha! 
Him ever take the public — why, he ain't got it in him to take a 
beer-shop. 

Char, [aside) Is it that he has grown more vulgar, or that / 
have grown more sensitive ? Anyhow, it jars terribly. But who 
am I to criticise — what should I have been but for his generosity 
— his — Bah ! Ignorant — H-less as he is, I'd sooner have him for 
a father than twenty stuck-up Sir Geoffry Champneys. 

Mid. [sitting) And now, Charley, that we're alone, my dear 
fellow, tell your old dad what your impressions of foreign parts 
were. When I was your age the Continent was a sealed book to 
them as wasn't wealthy. There was no Cook's excursions then, 
Charley ; leastaways, they seldom went further than White Con- 
dick Gardens or Beulah Spor, when they in general come back 
with their bonnets a one side, and wep' when they was spoke to 
*arsh. No, no, you've been born when there was the march o' 
intellect, and Atlantic cables and other curious things, and 
naturally you've benefited thereby. So of course you're a scholar, 
and seen a deal. Paris now — nice place, ain't it? 

Char. Glorious ! 

Mid. 'Ow about the 'orse flesh ? 

Char. A myth. 

Mid. Railly through ! And I suppose frogs is fallacies. Only 
to think ! 

Char. Paris is a paradise. But Italy — well, there ! 

Mid. But ain't it a mass of lazeyroneys ? 

Char. A mere libel. A land of romance, beauty, tradition, 
poetry ! Milan ! Venice ! Verona ! Florence ! 

Mid. Where the i/e comes from. 



12 ''OUR BOYSr 

Char. Rome ! Naples ! 

Mid. That's where Vesoovius is, ain't it ? 

Char. Yes. 

Mid. Was it " fizzin' " when you was there, Charley ? 

Char. No. There was no eruption when I was there. 

Mid. That's wrong, you know, that's wrong. I didn't limit you, 
Charley ; I said " See everything," and I certainly expected as 
you'd insist upon an eruption. 

Char. But, my dear dad, I saw everything else — Pompeii and 
Herculaneum. 

Mid. Eh? 

Char. Pompeii and Herculaneum — they were ruinedy you 
know. 

Mid. Two unfortnit Italian warehousemen, I suppose. 

Char. Nonsense ! They were buried, you remember. 

Mid. And why not? It'd be a pretty thing to refuse an unlucky 
firm as went broke a decent 

Char. You don't understand. 

Mid. [bluntly) No, I rt'^w'/. 

Char. But Germany, dad — the Rhine — "the castled crags of 
Drachenfels " — the Castle of Erhenbreitstein 

Mid. Aaron who ? Some swell German Jew, I suppose. 

Char. And the German women, [nudges him) 

Mid. Charles, I'm surprised. I'm simply — a — What are they 
like, Charley ? [gets closer to him) 

Char, [sighs) Hah! 

Mid. Lost your heart, eh ? 

Char. Not to a German girl, oh no — the lady /met who 

Sir G. [heard without) Well, we may as well join our friends. 

Char, [aside — rises) Here's Talbot's delightful father. I 
wouldn't swop parents with him for all his high breeding. Our 
heart's blood's a trifle cloudy, perhaps, but it flows freely — his is 
so terribly pure it hardly takes the trouble to trickle. No, Talbot, 
old fellow, I don't envy you your father, [goes up, L., and joins 
Middlewick) 

Sir Geoffry enters, followed by Talbot, c.from r. 

Sir G. [coining down, R.) But really, Talbot, you must have 
some ideas on what you have seen. 

Tal. What's the use of having ideas, when you can pick 'em up 
in the guide books ? 

Sir G. [pleased) Ah, then you are fond oi reading? Good. 

Tal. Reading! H^ ! ha! I hate it. [sits,K.c.) 

Sir G. [trying to excuse him) Well, well, perhaps so7ne fathers 
set too great a value on books. After all, one's fellow man is the 
best volume to study. And as one who I hope may ripen into a 



''OUR BOYSr 13 

statesman — your general appearance strongly reminds me of Pitt, 
by-the-bye — perhaps you are right. 

Mid. {a^zV/<?, /(? Charley) Finest you ever saw. SirGeoffry, wc 
shall be back shortly. Exit, L. D., with Charley. 

Sir G. And you actually saw nothing in the Rhine ? 

Tal. Oh, yes, 1 did. 

Sir G. That's well. 

Tal. No end of mud. 

Sir G. But Cologne now? 

Tal. Famous for its Cathedral and its smells. Both, I regret to 
say, unfinished. 

Sir G. But Germany, generally? 

Tal. Detestable. 

Sir G. Switzerland. Come, you were a long time there. There 
you saw nature in all its grandeur. Your Alpine experiences 
were 

Tal. Limited — ve^y limited. I admired those venturesome beings 
who risked their necks, but it was at a distance. I can't say a 
respectful distance for I thought them fools. 

Sir G. No doubt you were right, [aside] Prudence, caution, fore- 
thought — excellent qualities, [to Aim) Italy ? 

Tal. Second- /land son of country. Things, as a rule, give you a 
notion of being unredeemed pledges. Everything old and cracked. 
Didn't care for it. Jolly glad to get to Paris. 

Sir G. [lait/i a relish) Ha! The Louvre, eh? 

Tal. Yes. I preferred " Mabille." 

Sir G. K public building? 

Tal. Rather. But even Paris palls on a fellow. 

Sir G. [rising and taking his hatid) I see, Talbot, like a true 
Champneys you prefer your native land to all these meretricious 
foreign places. Well, dear boy, you've a glorious career before 
you, and it only rests with you to follow it up. I have arranged a 
marriage 

Tal. A what ! 

Sir G. Not arranged it exactly, but it catt be arranged — shall be. 

Tal. [quietly) Provided, of course, I approve of the lady. 

Sir G. Eh ! You approve ! What hsLveyou got to do with it ? 

Tal. Quite as much as she has, and rather more th3.n you, con- 
sidering / should have to Hve with her d.nd you wouldn't. 

Sir G. [annoyed) Talbot, I'm afraid you have picked up some* 
low Radical opinions during your residence abroad. I expect 
obedience. I have done all a father can for a son. You will wed, 
sir, as /wish ; you will espouse my pohtics, be returned for Lufton 
by my influence, and 

Tal. Unless Charley Middlewick chooses to stand 

Sir G. [in horror) Charley Middlewick chooses to stand ? 

Tal. In which case I 



14 ''OUR BOYSr 

Sir G. Yes? 

Tal. Should sit down. 

Sir G. [sits back) Talbot Champneys, you surprise Hie— you 
wound me. You have received every advantage that money could 
procure — you have come back after your lengthened foreign 
experiences, not — I must admit with pain — w^;/ what I ^z/z/^ expected. 
Possibly I looked for too much, but surely it was not an extrava- 
gant hope to indulge in that you would obey me in the one 
important step in a man's life — his marriage. The lady I have 
selected is wealthy, young and handsome. She is on a visit to 
your aunt, so you will have ample opportunity for ingratiating 
yourself. You will not thwart me in this, my dear Talbot? [tak- 
ing his hand) 

Tal. Well, before promising anything you must trot her out. 

Sir G. Trot her out ? 

Tal. Yes, yes, put her through her paces — let's judge of her 
points. You don't expect a fellow to buy a pig in a poke ? 

Sir G. Hem ! [aside) Very remarkable language. If anybody 
else spoke so, I should say it was vulgar, hut ?ny son/ It's — ha! 
ha! — eccentricity; his great-uncle Joseph was eccentric — he — 
[looks aside at Talbot and sighs deeply) 

Tal. [aside) Married whether I like it or ;7^/, Not if I know it. 
I'm going to "go it" a bit before /settle down. I have gone it a 
bit already, and I'm going to "go it" a bit more. It's the gov- 
ernor's fault : he shouldn't have mapped out my career with com- 
pass and rule. A man's not an express train, to be driven along a 
line of rails and never allowed to shunt on his own account. There's 
Charley's father let him have his fling and no questions asked. 
The governor's had his hobby — let him pay for it — he can do it. 

Clarissa has entered, c, spoketi briefly aside to Sir Geoffry and 
is now down beside Talbot. 

Clar. Talbot, it is so delightful to have you back again. I shall 
now have such charming evenings with you at chess. 

Tal. At what ? 

Clar. Chess — the king of games, 

Tal. Do you call it 2iganie? Ha ! ha ! No, thankee ; life's too 
short for chess. 

Clar. Well, well, we'll say backgammon. 

Tal. I don't mind saying h?iCkg^\xm\ow, but you don't catch me 
playing backgammon. 

Clar. Well, then, we must even continue our usual cosy even- 
ings, /do my wool-work whilst your papa reads us the debates. 
That's our regular evening's programme. 

Tal. [aside) They must have had a rollicking time of it. The 
debates ! a dozen columns of dullness filtered through your father. 
Not for Talbot. 



''OUR BOYSr 15 

Clar. But now we have music. Miss Melrose plays charmingly. 
Do you like music ? 

Tal. Ye-e-s. I don't like pieces, you know — five and-twenty 
minutes of fireworks. I like anything with a good chorus. 

Clar. Ah, so does Miss Melrose's cousin. 

Sir G. [^at Clarissa, to stop her) He-hem ! He-hem ! 

Clar. [aside) I forgot. 

Tal. [suspiciously, aside) Halloa! Why did he make that elabor- 
ate but utterly ineffective attempt to cough down the cousin ? [looks 
at Sir Geoffry and Clarissa) I see it all at a glance. The 
heiress is to be flung at my head, not the cousin at my heart. 
Future, luck, destiny, and all the lot of you, I see my fate. I marry 
that cousin. 

Sir G. [aside to Clarissa) Mary Melrose, the cousin, must be 
sent away. 

Clar. [aside) But she won't ^(?. 

Sir G. Talbot is a— Talbot is a 

Clar. Talbot's a fool. 

Sir G. [wounded, yet proud) Clarissa Champneys, Talbot is my 
son. 

Clar. Geoffry Champneys, Talbot is my nephew. I only wish I 
could exchange him for young Mr. Middlevvick. 

Sir G. You irritate me — you incense me — go to the deuce, 
Clarissa ! 

Clar. Ha ! ha! Come along, Talbot; let's go and see Mr. Mid- 
dlewick's pigs, perhaps ///^j/'// interest you. [takes his arm) 

Tal. [has been taking out a large cigar) You don't mind my 
smoking ? 

Clar. Not a bit. 

Tal. D'ye think the pigs '11 object ? 

Clar. [aside) He's an idiot. 

Tal. [aside) She's a nuisance, [to her) Tell us all about the 
cousin, [they go out) 

Sir G. Of course women can never hold their tongues. Mary 
Melrose is pretty — penniless though. Mischievous, too, as a girl 
can well be. And no taste — goes to sleep when I read the debates. 
Wakes up when it's time to say " good night," and wants to play 
billiards. A very dangerous young woman. (Violet Melrose 
heard without, C. and R.) 

Vio. Now, Mary, you must promise to behave yourself, or you 
shall not come out with me again. 

Sir G. That's Violet, that's the heiress — and of course her 
cousin Mary with her. Confound it ! They're as inseparable as 
— I'll try and walk off Talbot. He must see and love Aliss Mel- 
rose. Yes, why not " love ? " My father commanded me to love, 
and I was too dudful a son not to obey him on the instant. I loved 
madly — to order. Exit hastily, l. d. 



l6 ''OUR BOYSr 

*' Enter, Violet Melrose, c. 
Vio. Where can they have got to ? 

Enter, Mary Melrose, c. — the poor cousin — both dressed in the 

best taste. 

Mary. What a handsome place. Looks awfully new though, 
doesn't it? Seems as if it was painted and decorated yesterday, 
and furnished in the middle of the night — in order to be ready for 
visitors this morning. I seem to smell the hay and sacking that 
enveloped the legs of the chairs and tables. DoviX. you, Violet.'' 

Vio. Certainly ;^<?/. Mary, don't make remarks. 

Mary. Why not ? I like to make remarks. 

Vio. Yes, you hke to do a great many things you shouldn i do. 

Mary. So does every one. If one's always to do what's proper 
and correct, life might as well be all rice pudding and toast and 
water. I hate ihemboth, they're so dreadfully wholesome. 

Vio. I don't know what excuse we shall make for coming here. 
It looks as \i we were impatient to see the young men. 

Mary. So we are. At least I am. We've seen no one of the 
male sex at old Champneys'. 

Vio. Mary ! 

Mary. Begging his pardon — Sir Geoffry Champneys — Barfs — 
no one, under the age of fifty. 

Vio. Why, Mary, there's Mr. Sedative, he isn't thirty. 

Mary. Oh, Sedative's a curate and doesn't count. Besides, he 
blushes when you speak to him, and, altogether, he's a muff. He's 
awfully good and devoted to his mother and all that, but — well, 
there, he isn't my sort. 

Vio. I don't know who is your sort, Mary. 

Mary. Oh, it's all very well for you, you know ; you can pick 
and choose — if you haven't picked and chosen. 

Vio. Mary, you — how can you ? 

Mary. Violet, my dear, don't try to impose upon me. I know 
the impression young Morton made upon your susceptible heart. I 
tried hard to ensnare him, but you beat me. Oh, you quiet ones, 
I wouldn't trust you out of my sight — [aside] or in it for the matter 
of that. 

Vio. You're always thinking of love and marriage and all that 
nonsense. 

Mary. Of course I am. There's nothing else worth thinking 
about. It's all very well ior you — you're rich, and you have your 
tenants, and your pensioners, and your dependents, and I don't 
know what, to interest you. I've nothing, [sighs] I wish I was 
rich. 

Vio. Then marry some one with money. 

Mary. Never ! [after a slight pause] Unless he's nice, then I will 



''OUR boys:' \y 

— oh, yes, I don't go in for "love in a cottage." I never could 
understand the theory of " bread and cheese and kisses." I hate 
bread and cheese. 

Vio. {with admonitory finger) And 

Mary, [sighs) I know nothing about the rest. 

Vio. You mercenary girl. Mark me, you'll marry a rich man. 

Mary. Certainly — if I like him. 

Vio. But as for a poor one ? 

Mary. I'll marry him if I hke him better. 

Vio. I can't make you out ; you're simply the most • 

Enter, CHARLES MiDDLEWICK guickly. 

Mary, [aside] Morton ! 
Char. Why, Miss Melrose ! 

Vio. Oh, can I be [sinks into chair) 

Mary. If anybody'd catch me I think I could faint. 

Char. Let me. [catches her in his arms) My dear Miss Melrose, 

Vio. [recovers suddenly) Mr. Morton ! ! 

Char. Miss Melrose ! [leaves Mary and goes to Violet) Can I 
— can I believe my eyes ? What are you doing here .'' 

Vio. What 2LX*t you doing here ? 

Char. Morton isn't my name. I assumed it at Bonn, like a fool, 
because of a scrape I got into with an offensive and warhke 
student, which resulted in his being rather severely wounded — an 
insolent hound. No, I've come back here to my home, to my 
father, and 

Vio. [aside, romantically) Comeback to his father, to his home ! 
Mary, is — is this destiny ? 

Mary, [aside to her) If it is destiny, dear, don't you think I'd 
better go away for a short time ? 

Vio. No, no, Mary, don't go, by any means. 

Mary. I wouldn't dream of such a thing. Exit C. and R. 

Char. Life's made up of surprises. Only to think of meeting 
you here. 

Vio. You took no parlicular trouble to find out where to meet 
Tne, did you ? 

Char. You left Vienna so abruptly. You wouldn't have had me 
advertise ? 

Vio. Really! 

Char. Lost, stolen, or strayed, a young lady, etc., etc. Anyone 
restoring her to her disconsolate admirer, Charles — a 

Vio. Mr. Morton, upon my word, I 

Char, [ardently) And upon my word this is the happiest moment 
of my life ; no, it's run hard by the (7M^r moment, when under the 
shadow of the trees, with the wild river rushing at our feet, you 
half — /^«^ whispered a word or two that led me to hope. Oh, 



1 8 " OUR BOYSr 

Violet, I swear by — by — by those eyes — and what could a man 
s\NQ2irhy truer [or, query, bluer) — I've never ceased to think of 
you, to dream of you 

Vie. To dream of me ? What, not when you've been awake ? 

Char. I've never been awake ; hfe, since we parted, has been 
one long sweet siesta in which your image was ever foremost. 
The chief cause, the only cause of my hastening home was to 
search _)/(?« out. I knew your wandering ways, and meant to track 
you. You said you intended spending the summer at Biarritz. But 
fortune has favored me as she never yet favored man, and placed 
the prize in my arms. 

Vic. [pleased, but ttying to be severe") In where? 

Char, {throwing his arms round her) There! [slight pause^ 

Vio. Mr. Morton, I'm ashamed of you. 

Char. Miss Melrose, Y xw proud o{ \ov . 

Vio. Really, I 

Char. You wouldn't have me think you a flirt — a coquette ? 

Vio. Indeed, no. 

Char. You wouldhe one if when you breathed those half-dozen 
delicious words, you only meant to trifle with me. I've lived upon 
that sentence ever since — looking ardently forward to the day 
when I could present myself in propria persona as I do now. 
Violet, don't turn away, for (Sir Geoffry coughs without) 

Vio. [rather agitated) There's somebody coming. 

Char. Confound it ! in this life there always is somebody com- 
ing, [goes up, L.) 

Sir G. (enters) I can't find him — he isn't with the pigs, [to 
Violet) I regret that my son 

Vio. Why, Sir Geoffry — you must have intended it as a wicked 
surprise. Your son and I are acquainted. 

Sir G. Has he, then, already 

Vio. Oh, before 

Sir G. Good gracious! You must not mind his being a little 
bashful and retirmg. 

Vio. Oh, I didn't find him so at all. 

Sir G. [aside) The deuce she didn't ! met before? 

Vio. At Vienna. 

Sir G. Is it possible ? And you don't— don't dislike him? 

Vio. Oh, who could ! 

Sir G. [aside) I can't believe my The young rascal ! all his 

opposition was assumed then — a deep, young dog. Ha ! ha ! 
Well, he took me in. Ha ! ha ! Yes, he took me in. 

Char, [down) I hope. Sir Geoffry, we shall 

Sir G. Yes, yes, young gentleman, all in good time, but just at 
present you see we 

Vio. I should like to hear, though, what your son was about to 
say. 



''OUR BOYSr 19 

Sir G. [seeing with horror the iJiistake) My — my son ! This per- 
son — he's no son of mine. 

Char, [half aside) No — thank Heaven ! 

Vic. [shrinks from hi7n; bitterly) Twz^^ an impostor ! 

Char. Violet, 1 

Enter, L. D., MiDDLEwicK andMiss Clarissa; at c, Mary and 

Talbot. 

Mid. It's true, mum. Every one on *em was agin me doing it. 
Halloa — who's the gals? 

At hearing the intejise/y vulgar voice of MiDDLEWiCK, Violet has 
shrunk, and, evidently shocked, assumes a cold look — Charley 
perceives it, and by his expression shows he resents her manner. 

Tal. [to Mary) D'ye know I feel as if I'd known you ever so 
long? 

Mary. And I've quite taken io you— fact 

Sir Geoffry, who has observed this with suppressed rage, takes 
Talbot by the arm, with a slight wrench, brings him to Violet. 

Char, [aside) I could read a volume in her altered look. 
Sir G. This, Violet, is — is my son! 

Char, [seising Middlewick's hand with a grasp of affection; 
proudly) And this, Miss Melrose, is my father ! 

ACT DROP. 



ACT II. 



Scene. — Drawing-roo7n at Sir Geoffry Champneys' — Kempster 
discovered. 

Kemp. Well, things are coming to a pretty pass when we have 
such visit6rs to dinner as Mr. Middlewick, senor. Three *elps to 
soup, and his napkin tucked round his neck for all the world like a 
carver at a cafe — a common cafe, [dozvn) And yet, somehow, I 
fancy his 'art's in the right place ; I know his 'and is (that's his 
pocket) a precious deal oftener than the governor's. I've heard, 
too, as the servants at his place are fed on the fat of the land. 
Hem ! we ain't. There's a deal too much show here. Three 
mutton cutlets for four people, who've the consolation of knowing 
the dishes is 'all marked, though when a party's hungry silver 
ain't satisfying. 



20 ''OUR BOYSr 

Enter, SiR Geoffry and Middlewick, in evening dress, Middle- 
wick's a little old fashioned and extravagattt — large, double- 
breasted white waistcoat and plenty of necktie. 

Sir G. Yes, yes, Mr. Middlewick, you are perfectly right, [to 
Kempster) Send our coffee in here. 

Kemp, [aside) They're a-gettin' thick, they're a-gettin' uncom- 
mon thick. Exit, L. D. 

Sir G. You enjoyed your dinner? 

Mid. [sits) Fust-rate. iYay one. 

Sir G. Good ! And you don't mind leaving your wine for a 
chat? 

Mid. Not a bit. Can't abear claret, and port pays me out. I 
never knew what gout was when I had my shop. 

Sir G. He-hem ! 

Mid. [aside) He always shies at the shop. Well, I won't tread 
on his aristocratic corns ; it ain't fair, for after all, they re tender, 
and r in 'eavy. 

Sir G. I'm delighted, Mr. Middlewick, to welcome under my 
roof so successful a representative of the commercial spirit of the 
age. Champneys Hall, as a rule, has been honored by the visits 
of people of birth solely. Your presence here is a pleasing excep- 
tion. 

Mid. Sir Geoffry, you do me ^onor. Of course money's always 
a 

Sir G. Not wholly. I anticipate your remark. Personal worth 
must count for something. 

Mid. Fust-rate theory — ^/zylan/n?pic and all that — but it don't 
wash, Sir Geoffry. 'Y?^^ yourself , for instance. When you stroll 
about 'ere, everybody you meet touches his 'at. How many does 
so when you walks down Fleet Street? 

Sir G. Everybody touches his hat io you, Mr. Middlewick. 

Mid. Not a bit of it. See here ; tha{ s what they touches their 
*ats to. [slaps his pocket, which rattles %vith the sound of money) 
Money makes the mare to go — the mare — rubbish ! It sets the 
whole stable a gallopin' ! If I go into a shop shabby the counter- 
skipper treats me famihar, pre-aps 'aughty. If I wear new broad 
cloth he calls me " Sir," There you 'ave it in a nutshell. 

Sir G. Mr. Middlewick, I admit that money exercises an undue 
influence in the world and to an extent with vulgar — I repeat, 
vulgar m\wdi's> — elbows birth, worth, virtue, and — a — all that sort of 
thing a Httle out of the way. That is why so many of us — I say 
us — live in the country, where — where 

Mid. Jes' so. /know. You're somebody 'ere — nobody there. 
Quite right ; that's why / settled in the country. 

Sir G. Your career has been a remarkable one. 

Mid. Extry-ordinary. I was lucky from a baby. Found a farden 



''OUR BOYSr 21 

when I was two years old, and got a five-shilling piece for 'olding 
a 'orse when I was playing truant at the age of six. When I 
growed up everj^thing I touched turned up trumps. I believe if 
I'd purchased a ship-load of Dutch cheeses, the man with the van 
'ud a' delivered me Stiltons. I believe as the Government went 
to war a purpose to give me a openin' for contracks. Bacon ! 
Well, there — bless your 'art, what I made out of bacon alone was 
a little independence. I never meet a pig in the road that I don't 
feel inclined to take off my 'at to him. 

Sir G. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Mid. Every speculation proved a success. It seemed as if I 
was in the secret of life's lucky bag, and had been put up to where 
I was to pick out the prizes. Some folks said, " 'Old 'ard, Perkyn, 
my boy, you'll run aground." Well, I didii t " 'old 'ard," I "'eld 
on," and here I am. Sir Geofifry, at the age of fifty-three able to 
buy up any 'arf a dozen nobs in the county. 

Sir G. [aside) Nobs ! He is a pill for all his gilding. 

Mid. But if r in not a gentleman, there's my boy. 

Sir G. Who, I have a sort of suspicion, admires Violet Melrose. 

Mid. What ! The stuck-up rich gal. No ! no ! 

Sir G. [eagerly) You think not? 

Mid. Certain. My son knows better than to thwart 7ne. Miss 
Melrose snubbed me when we fust met — has cold-shouldered me 
ever since. Do you suppose my boy Charley would have any- 
thing to say to a young woman as despised his father? 

Sir G. [shaking hands) My dear Middlewick, you delight me. 
Of course not. I was foolishly suspicious. I want my son to marry 
Miss Melrose. He will do so of course — for he has never dis- 
obeyed me ; he has been brought up strictly to acknowledge my 
authority and 

Mid. And W(?«'/, I'll warrant. Your system's a mistake — inine s 
the correct one. I've always given my boy his fling — never 
baulked him from a baby. If he cried for the moon we give him 
a Cheshire cheese immediate — that being the nearest substitute 
'andy. Now he'd obey my slightest wish. 

Sir G. Will he ! Ha ! ha ! Let us hope so. 

Enter, Violet Melrose. 

Vio. Interrupting a tete-a-tete, I'm afraid. 

Sir G. Not at all. Miss Melrose. 

Mid. Oh, no, not at all — not at all. [rises and goes up — aside) 
"Taturtate" — always coming out with her /talian. Ha, she's not 
a patch upon the cousin ; she's the gal for my money. 

Sir G. [down — aside in an undertone to Violet) Miss Melrose — 
may I say Violet — I trust Talbot's manner, modest as it is, has 
impressed you. You must not take him for the foo— I mean you 



22 ''OUR BOYSr 

mustn't imagine he is the less ardent because he doesn't talk 
poetry like young Mr. Middlewick, or 

Vio. [with temper) Oh, don't mention //////, Sir Geoffry — that 
young gentleman seems to ignore my existence. 

Sir G. [aside) Good. Son sees father's snubbed and retaliates. 
[to her) Ha! ha! do you know — pardon my absurdity — at first I 
actually imagined there was some trifling tenderness in that 
quarter. But I see by your face I was mistaken. You are above 
being dazzled by good looks. 

Vio. [with a Jiatural burst) And he is good-looking, isn't he? 

Sir G. [a little haughtily) He — hem ! He's lo7ig — but nothing 
distingue- — Talbot now is not what one call a striking figure, but 
there's a concealed intellectuality — a hidden something or other — 
you'll understand what I mean but I'm at a loss for the word at 
the moment — that is none the less effective in the long run — [with 
pleasant earnestness) a — then, my dear Violet, he's the heir to a 
baronetcy. He's an embryo statesman, and he adores you. Didn't 
you observe him at dinner ? He ate nothing — drank nothing — 
which — and I say it at the risk of being considered a too observant 
host — is more than can be said of young Middlewick. 

Vio. [aside) That's true, for I watched him. 

Char, [heard without, \..) Ha! ha! ha! You play billiards I 
why, you know as much of the game as the King of Ashanti knows 
of 

Tal. [heard, L.) Ha ! ha ! V\z.y you any day in the week. 

Mid. [down) I say, Sir Geoffry, them boys are going it, ain't 
they? 

Vio. [aside) " Them boys ! " 

Mid. [aside) I see her sneer. 

Sir G. [aside) Every time he opens his mouth improves Talbot's 
chance. 

Enter, Charley and Talbot l. — Charley is a little excited with 
wine, but not in the least tipsy — he has been helping himself freely 
to drown his annoyance at Violet's hauteur and evident horror 
of his father — Talbot's manner is of the sajne washed-out, flabby 
nature as previously showfi. 

Char. Ha! ha! ha! Here's Talbot Champneys trying to argue 
with me about biUiards. Why, man, you can't see as far as the 
spot ball. 

Sir G. The fact of being short-sighted is scarcely a happy sub- 
ject for jesting. 

Vio. [with suppressed temper) I quite agree with you, Sir 
Geoffry. 

Cliar. [has entered) It's aristocratic ; double eye-glasses look 
rather distingue, /think. 

Char, (a/ Violet) Yes, those who are not aristocratic may 



''OUR BOYSr 23 

sometimes suffer from tlie affection. There are short-sighted fools 
in the world who are not swells. 

Vic. [aside) He thinks that severe. 

Mid. Bless your 'art, yes ; we had a carman as was always 
driving into every think ; at last he run over a boy in the Boro', 
and that got him his quietum. 

Char. Yes, yes, you told us before about him. 

Mid. [aside) Don't, Charley, don't. If you only brought me out 
to shut me up, I might as well be a tellyscoop. 

Sir G. [aside to Violet) Charming papa-in-law he'll make to 
somebody. 

Vio. Don't, don't, [looking at Charley) He's looking daggers 
at me, and I've done nothing. 

Tal. It's rather rich your talking of beating me at billiards, con- 
sidering that I've devoted the last three years to billiards and 
nothing else. 

Sir G. [aside) The deuce he has ! That's pleasant for a father 
to hear. Oh, a — exaggeration. 

Tal. It's rather amusing your bragging of rivalling me. And 
when you talk about my not being able to see the spot ball, all I 
can say is 

Char. Ha ! ha ! ha ! If you cafit, you've a capital eye for the 
pocket, [at Violet — Violet shows she sees the thrust) 

Mid. Ah, well, bagatelle s more in my way. When me and a 
few neighbors used to to take our glass at the Peterboro' Arms, 
we 

Char. Yes, yes, father 

Mid. [aside) He's bit. That gal's bit him. It'll be an awk- 
ward day for Charley when he shows he's ashamed of his gover- 
nor. 

Clar. I agree with Mr. Middlewick — bagatelle's charming. 

Vio. So it is, Miss Champneys. 

Clar. So innocent. 

Sir G. [rising) Come, who's for a game of billiards then? I 
never touch a cue, but I'll play you fifty up, Mr. Middlewick, and 
my sister here and your son shall see all fair. Come, you shall 
see that there is even a worse player in the world than yourself. 
[aside) There couldn't be a better opportunity for leaving Talbot 
and Violet alone, [to him) What say? 

Mid. I'm agreealDle — you must teach me though. 

Clar. /will do that, if you will allow me. 

Mid. Only too happy, [goes off , R. D., with Clarissa) 

Sir G. [aside to T ki.v,ot) Now's your time, bring matters to a 
crisis. 

Vio. [taking SiR Geoffry's arm the other side) Sir Geoffry, 
I'll h2iQk you. 



24 ''OUR BOYSr 

Sir G. {going towards R. D., annoyed — aside) Confound it! [to 
Violet) You really are most — a — I can't play a bit 

As i hey go out Violet gives a sort of half sneering, ha if mischievous 
laugh at Charley, who can with difficulty restrain his annoyance ; 
when they are off, he turns, finding himself face to face with Tal- 
bot — Talbot is bringing out a pipe, and filling it. 

Char. Well. 

Tal. Well. 

Char. What are you going to do ? 

Tal. What are y ou ? 

Char. I don't know. 

Tal. I do. I'm going to have a smoke in the stable. Also a 
good think. 

Char. A good what ? 

Tal. Think. I'm in love. 

Char. You! 

Tal. Why shouldn't I be ? You tall chaps always think you can 
monopolize all the love-making in the world. You can love sho7-t, 
just the same as you can love long. I tell you I'm gone. D'ye 
hear ? Gone. 

Char, {bitterly') I'm happy to hear it. I shall be happier when 
^QM prove the fact, {moves away) 

Tal. I'm off. When you want a weed you know where to find 
me. Exit. 

Char. In love, is he? I don't wonder at it — she'd entice a hermit 
from his <:^//— and — and — send him back sold. She can't have a 
heart, (enter Mary) Ah, women are all ahke. 

Mary. What a frightful observation! And at the top of your 
voice too. 

Char. I mean it. 

Mary. No, you don't. 

Char. If I don't may I be 

Mary, Jilted ? 

Char. Jilted. The foolish phrase for one of the cruellest crimes 
— I say it advisedly, crimes — that can disgrace /^;«a/<? — I won't say 
human — nature. 

Mary. Dear ! dear ! dear ! 

Char, {with feeling) Hearts are not playthings to be broken like 
children's drums just to see what's inside them. A man's feelings 
are not toys to be trifled with and tossed aside. Love in a true 
man means love — love pure and simple and unselfish — the devo- 
tion of his whole mind and being to one in whose weal or woe his 
very soul's wrapped up. With women 

Mary. What a pity it is Talbot Champneys can't talk like you — 
and going into Parliament too. 



''OUR BOYSr 25 

Char. Talbot Champneys — yes — his relatives are well-spoken, 
well-born somebodies, and so she favors him. 

Mary. She? Who? 

Char. Absurd ! there's only one she. 

Mary. That's very polite to me, I'm sure. 

Char. Oh, you know what I mean. In my eyes. 

Mary. Exactly. But you don't monopolize all the visual organs 
of the universe. There are other eyes that may have looked else- 
where. 

Char. Why, Avhat on earth 

Mary, {modestly') I don't think Talbot does admire Violet. 

Char. Eh? 

Mary. Not so much as he does — a — somebody else. 

Char. Why, who is there he could 

Mary. Well, upon my word — considering that I— {pauses awk- 
wardly) 

Char. Why, what a fool I've been ! 

Mary. And are. 

Char. But — oh, impossible ! 

Mary. Thank you. 

Char. No, I don't mean that, because, of course, you are a 
charming young lady, and 

Mary. Thank you again. 

Char. I mean it's impossible on j/^wr side. I really believe Talbot 
to be not half a bad fellow in the main, but his manner, his 
appearance, and 

Mary. Oh, handsome men are like the shows at the fairs, you 
see all the best outside. 

Char. There's some truth in that, perhaps. 

Mary. Talbot Champneys isn't either the fool he looks or affects 
to be. He's wonderfully good-hearted, I /&;/^w, for I watched his 
manner only yesterday towards a crippled beggar boy when he 
thought no one saw him ; and — and he snubs his pompous old 
father like a — like a 

Char. A young cub. 

Mary. Well, a young cub's better than an old bear. I don't 
believe in surface — I like to know what's inside. You've often 
noticed confectioners* tarts, with their proud upper-crust — hollow 
mockeries — delusive shams ; when the knife dives into their dim 
recesses what does it disclose ? fruit, occasionally ; syrup, seldom ; 
flavor, never. Now. Talbot's not a confectioner's tart ! 

Char. No, I should say he was more of the cake. 

Mary. Never mind, I like cake. He may be eccentric, but his 
heart's in the right place. 

Char. That mesms you ve got it. 

Mary. He hasn't told me so. 

Char. Until you make him I 



26 ''OUR BOYSr 

Mary. Make him ! well, you are 

Sir G. [heard, r. ) Don't mention it — a trifle. 

Mid. {heard, R.) 'Pon my word I'm downright 

Sir G. No, no ; not at all. 

Char, [earnestly) You will — you will make him declare himself, 
Mary Melrose, and make me the 

Enter, Sir Geoffry and yivODUK^icvL, followed by V\o\je.t — Mary 
and Charley, sit up, l. 

Mid. I declare I wouldn't have done such a thing for any 
money, [aside] I knew I should come to grief at them billiards. 

Sir G. [blandly) My dear Mr. Middlewick, commonest thing 
with beginners. Cutting the billiard cloth with the cue is a trifling 
accident that might happen with any one. Don't mention it any 
more, [aside) An awkward brute. Treated the table hke his con- 
founded counter. 

Mid. [aside] Serves me right, trying to play billiards, and poker- 
back pretending he couldn't, and him all the time a regular dab. 
He's up to these grand games, but one of these days I'll loore him 
on to skittles — and astonish him. 

Sir G. [aside to Middlewick, pleased) Middlewick, look, my 
dear sir. [points to Charley ajid Mary, in conversation up stage 
on sociable , i..) D'ye see that? Ha! ha! Seem rather interested 
in each other's conversation, eh? [nudges him) 

Mid. Why, anything more like spooning I 

Sir G. I hope, for your sake, it may be so ; that girl is worth a 
thousand of her haughty cousin. 

Mid. [seizing his hand) You're right. Sir Geoffry. And I'm 
proud to hear a swell as is a swell give vent to such sentiments — 
they do you //onor. 

Vie. [aside) He means to wound me — to insult me. Mary can- 
not willingly have lent herself to so mean and poor a trick. She 
is honest — but he — (enter, Clarissa ; goes to Middlewick) How 
taken up with each other they seem. There isn't an atom of 
jealousy about my disposition, but I'd give the world X.oV\\ov^ what 
they're talking about. (Charley and Mary laugh) Now they're 
laughing. Perhaps at me. Oh, how I wish Mary wasn't poor — 
I'd have such a quarrel with her. 

Mid. [aside; has been talking with Clarissa) A more sensible 
woman I never come across. 

Clar. [aside) A delightful person if a little eccentric. 

Mid. [aside) I'll find out what she thinks of my sentiments 
regarding Charley's fancy. 

Clar. [aside) I hope his evident attentions to tne have not been 
noticed by my brother. 

Mid. [seated by her) Miss Clarissa — nice name Clarissa. 

Clar. [coquettishly) Think so? 



''OUR BOYSr 27 

Mid. Yes — I wouldn't change it for no other. Your other name 
I would though. 

Clar. [^aside] Wliat can he mean.'' These successful commercial 
people are so blunt and business-like — can he possibly be about to 
— {sighs) Well, I must say I consider him rather a fine man. 

Sir G. {to Violet, who has been and is watching Mary and 
Charley — Sir Geoffry has sat beside her) Depend upon it, ill- 
assorted marriages are a mistake. For instance, we'll say, young 
Middlewick there — the poor lad's in a false position. 

Vio. [aside, in temper) He is — sitting by her. 

Sir G. A husband's relations, too, should not be ignored. Should 
the young man marry a lady, imagine her humiUation at the 
periodical visits of " Papa." 

Vio. [turning to him, a little nettled) And y^X. you tolerate him 
here — make much of him. 

Sir G. My dear Violet, in the country one is obliged to swallow 
one's feelings occasionally. I take good care no one shall ever 
meet him for whom I have the least — a — he -hem ! [aside) Nearly 
put my foot in it there. 

Middlewick and Clarissa have been conversing very earnestly. 

Mid. Of course — of course when people get to a certain time of 
life they ought to settle. 

Charley and Mary stroll off, c. and r. 

Clar. My sentiments precisely. 

Mid. And after all high birth's all very well, but if the other 
party has the money 

Clar. Certainly — certainly. It may be radical and all that sort 
of thing, but give me intellect before mere family. And 1 am 
worldly enough to revere success — such 2i<s> yours, for instance. 

Mid. [aside) She certainly is one of the most sensible women I 
— and after all they'd make an uncommon handsome couple 

Clar. Eh? 

Mid. Charley and 

Sir G. [abruptly, and annoyed) Clarissa, my dear, where on 
earth has Talbot got to ! 

Clar. [rising, enraged at discovery of her ?nistake in Middle- 
wick) How should /know where he's got to! 

Sir G. [astonished) Why, gracious me ! My dear, I — [aside to 
her, but aloud) Remember, Clarissa, if you please, there are visi- 
tors present. 

Clar. Visitors indeed ! Such canaille ! [goes up and exit") 

Mid. [aside) I heard you, my lady. So the old ones gomg 
in for snubs as well as — It's the last time me or Charley sets a foot 
in this 'ouse. 



28 ''OUR boys:' 

Vio. {who has gone up to conservatory ; looking off ) How mean 
I feel, watching them. I'll — I'll leave this house to-morrow. 

Sir G. [aside] What on earth's the matter with the woman? 
Something's annoyed her, but she mustn't be rude to my guests. 1 
have one system with my son, my servants, and — yes, and my 
sister. She must come back at once and — Miss Melrose — Middle- 
wick, excuse me a moment or two. Exit, r. d. 

Mid. All alone with Miss High-and-mighty ! Hang me if I 
don't tackle her! You'll — you'll excuse me, Miss, but 

Vio. [in horror) Oh, pray don't say " Miss." 

Mid. [softened) Eh.? [aside) not "Miss?" [to her) Well, then, 
we'll say " Voylet." 

Vio. [disgusted, but unable to restraint her amusement) Mr. Mid- 
dlewick, you really are too absurd ! 

She jnoves towards R. door, and exit ; as she does so Charley 
enters, Q.., from L., and is about to follow her. 

Mid. [aside) If ever I set foot again in this house — [catches 
Charley by the arm, and turns him round abruptly towards him- 
self) 

Char. Why, dad, I 

Mid. Charley, where are you a going of? 

Char, [annoyed) Oh ! father, I really 

Mid. [severely) Charles Middlewick, you're a going after that 
young lady. 

Char. Well, sir, if I am ? 

Mid. Charley, I don't want you and me to fall out. We never 
have yet. All's been smooth and pleasant with me hitherto, but 
when I do cut up rough, Charley, I cut up that rough as the road 
a being repaired afore the steam roller tackles it is simply a feather 
bed compared to your father. 

Char. I don't understand you. 

Mid. [with suppressed passio^t) Obey me and my nature's olive 
ile ; go agin me and it's still ile, but it's ile of vitterel. 

Char. If, sir, you're alluding to my feelings towards Miss Mel- 
rose, I 

Mid. I am. Think no more of her. Between you and her there's 
a gulf, Charles Middlewick, and that gulf's grammar. Perha] s 
: you think I'm too ignorant to know what pride means. I'm no'. 
If you ever cared for this stuck-up madam you must forget her. 
[determiiied) She ain't my sort ; never will be, and she shan't be 
my daughter-in-law neither. 

Char. You have always prided yourself on allowing me my own 
way in everything — it was your system, as you called it — and now, 
when it comes to a matter in which my whole future happiness is 
involved, you are cruel enough to 

Mid. [sharply) Cruel only to be kind, Charley. You wouldn't 



''OUR BOYSr 29 

marry a woman who despised your father? [Ckaklfn moves aside, 
ashamed ; pause) If you would, if you do, I'll cut you off with a 
shilling. I — I — [in a rage) Why don't you meet me half way and 
say you'll obey me, you shilly-shally numskull ! 

Char. (/« a passion) You have no right to speak like this to me, 
if you are my father, [pause ; Middlewick astonished) 

Mid. [in softer voice) He's right, he's ^z/z'/<? right ; calling names 
never did no good at any time, [to him) Leastaways not a num- 
skull, Charley, of course ; that was a " lapsy hngo," a slip of the 
pen, you know. I'm speaking for your good. You're her equal 
in everything except one, Charley — I'm rich, but I'm a common, 
ignorant man. Wait, anyhow, until — until I — I — ain't here to dis- 
grace you. [turns aside, breaks doivn) 

Char, [after slight pause) My dear, kind dad, there's nothing in 
the world I wouldn't sacrifice to please you 

Mid. [turns to him, pleased) Ah ? 

Char. But in this instance 

Mid. [turning back grumpily) Hah! 

Char. I can never be happy without Violet Melrose. 

Mid. Then make up your mind to be miserable. 

Char. The appearance of superciliousness which you imagine 
you 

Mid. Imagine — but it ain't for you to bandy any further words 
Avith me. If you disappoint me, disobey me, defy me, take the con- 
sequences. Say good-bye to your father, hve on Violet Melrose's 
money, but don't be surprised when your grand lady wife taunts 
you with your mean position and flings your vulgar father s butter 
shop in your teeth. [Craki.y.y attempts to speak) Not a word — I've 
said my say, and what I have said, Charles Middlewick' s, my 
ultipomatum. Exit, L. D. 

Char, [distracted) Every word he said was true, and cut like a 
knife ! How can I tell him that I know Violet's apparent super- 
cilious manner is only on the surface? That — But wit? Am I 
foohng myself all the while ? Does my bhnd admiradon make me 
— I'll speak to her, learn the real depth of this seeming pride, 
and [is going r. ) 

Mary enters R. 

Mary. Oh, such fun ! 

Char, [disgusted) Fun! 

Mary. Yes, I've completely taken in the old gentleman. 

Char. I beheve you're capable of it. 

Mary. With half-a-dozen joking remarks in admiration oi you, 
I've completely put him off the scent. He firmly belives that 
we're awfully spoons, and that his son's only to ask Violet to be 
accepted. 

Char. So you did that, did you ? 



30 ''OUR BOYSr 

Mary. Yes, I did, and Sir Geofifiy's simply in raptures at the 
success of his system, as he calls it, and Violet the 

Char, [in rage) You've made matters ten times worse with your 
meddling interference. You — you've widened the gulf, and suU 
further estranged us. But come what may I'll speak out and 
bring her to the point, if it's under the baronet's very nose ! I— 
Ugh! [with an exclamatio?i of intense vexation at Mary, exit, R.) 

Mary, [after a blank look) Moral! Mary Melrose, my dear, for 
the rest of your natural hfe never attempt to do anything kind fot 
anybody, I'll become supremely selfish, and settle down into a 
narrow-minded and highly acidulated old maid. 

Enter, Talbot, cfrom R. 

Tal. Who's that talking about old maids? 

Mary. I was. 

Tal. Why, you're all alone. 

Mary. Yes, I like to be alone. 

Tal. That means I'm to 

Mary. Oh, no, you're 

Tal. Nobody. Don't count. Thanks. 

Mary. I didn't say that. 

Tal. No, but you meant it. 

Mary. Why ? 

Tal. Because you didn't 5«j/ it. [pause) 
. Mary. What do you mean? 

Tal. What I say. 

Mary, What's that? 

Tal. Nothing. 

Mary. Then you mean nothing. 

Tal. On the contrary, I mean a lot, but I can't say it. 

Mary. Then I wouldn't try. 

Tal. I won't, [slight pause) I say. Miss Melrose, do you know 
I'm dreadfully afraid of you. 

Mary. Am I so very terrible ? 

Tal. You're so fearfully sensible, you know — so satirical and 
cutting, and "awfully clever," and Vvci7iot, you know. 

Mary. Not what, you know ? 

Tal. None of that, you know. I'm a— a — muff, that's what / 
am. I haven't got a second idea. I don't believe I've got d. first, 
but I'll swear I haven't a second. 

Mary. Well, at all events, you're not conceited. 

Tal. What on earth have /got to be conceited about? What 
are my accomplishments ? I can play a fair game of bilhards, 
though I'm too short-sighted for cricket. I can stick on the maddest 
horse that ever gladdened a coroner, and I can smoke hke — like 
Sheffield. Not much to recommend oneself to a woman, eh ? 

Mary. I don't know. Miss Melrose, for instance, my rich and 



''OUR BOYSr 31 

handsome cousin, has a great admiration for the Guy Livingstone 
virtues. 

Tal. Don't Hke her — at least, don't admire her. 

Mary. Why not ? 

Tal. Because I've been commanded to. Private feehngs ain't 
private soldiers — you can't order them about and drill them like 
dolls. Human nature's obstinate as a rule. Do you know how 
they get the pigs on board ? 

Mary. No. 

Tal. Put their noses towards the vessel and then try and pull 
them away, backwards. The result is that they run up the plank 
into the vessel immediately. I'm a pig. 

Mary. You don't say so? 

Tal. And 7ny sentiments ?ire pig-headed, my governor's are/'^- 
to7<?rtf— that's to say, old-fashioned — the "old school," strict 
oioedience, marry according to orders, you know, eh? [nudges her) 
Ha ! ha ! Some of us know a trick worth two of that, eh ? 

Mary. Ha! ha! ha! 

Tal. [laughs with her) You're a sharp one, you are. [nudges her) 

Mary. So ^.xq you. 

Tal. Am 1, though? 

Mary. Only in the elbow. Suppose you sit a httle further off ; 
you never crowd up so closely to Violet. 

Tal. No, I'm not given to poaching. 

Mary. Poaching ! Eggs ? 

Tal. Eggs be — hatched! Haven't you seen Charley Middle- 
wick loves her as much as — as — [aside) VWgo it now — I'm wound 
up to go it, and go it I will. 

Mary. As much as what? 

Tal. As I \owQ you. 

Mary, [rising) Mr. Champneys ! 

Tal. [rising) No, no, no, I don't mean that. 

Mary. No/ 

Tal. Yes, yes, I do, but in another way. I mean he doesn't 
love her half as much as I love you. 

Mary. You don't know your own mind, 

Tal. Don't want to. I want to know yours. 

Mary. You don't mean half you say. 

Tal. No, I don't. I mean it all. 

Mary. Your father' d disown you. 

Tal. So he might if I owned, you. 

Mary. You silly boy, what are you talking about? I haven't a 
penny in the world. 

Tal. Even if you did possess that humble but heavy coin, it 
could scarce be considered capital, could it ? A start at house- 
keeping on a ha'penny a-piece would be a trifle rash, not to say 
risky. 



32 ''OUR BOYSr 

Mary. Housekeeping, indeed ! Well, I like your impudence 

Tal. I adore yours. 

Mary. I never was impertinent in my life. 

Tal. Then don't contradict. When I say, " Be mine," don't 
say " Shan't." 

Mary. I won't. 

Tal. Won't what? 

Mary. Say " shan't." 

Tal. [^delighted) Do you mean it ? 

Mary. Talbot, you've had too much wine. 

Tal. I admit it.' 

Mary. You have admitted it. If your father suspected this he'd 
cut you off with a shiUing. 

Tal. That's fivepence a piece better than your penny. We're 
getting on. 

Mary. You quite take one's breath away — I don't know what to 
say. 

Tal. Let me say it for you. 

Mary. No, no, I never was proposed to before. 

Tal. How do you like it ? 

Mary. But I've 7'ead about people proposing and — and — [inno- 
cently) They've always gone on their knees. 

Tal. I'll go on my head i( it'll only please you. 

Mary. No, no, don't, it might give way. 

Tal. Well, as far a knee goes — here goes — there ! [kneels) 

Mary. And then the lover always made a beautiful speech. 

Tal. / know. Most adorable of your sex, a cruel parent com- 
mands me to love another — I wont — I can't — I 3.doreyou — you 
alone. I despise heiresses, I despise Parliamentary honors, a 
public career, and all that dosh. (Sir Geoffry «;?<^Middlewick 
have appeared, (Z.\ SiR Geoffry «^w staggers, and supports him- 
self on Middlewick's arm) I prefer love in a cottage. I like love 
— I like a cottage, where a fellow can smoke where he likes, 
and 

Sir G. [bursting out) You shall have your wish, sir. You shall 
have your love and your cottage, and your smoke and — and — 
[breaking down) Talbot — Talbot, what does this mean ? 

Tal. It means that I've made my own bargain — you can't call 
it an ugly one, can you ? (Sir Geoffry overcome) 

Mid. [almost unable to control his amusement) Never mind, 
Champneys, it might have been worse. She's a proper sort, is 
Mary. 

Sir G. Don't " Champneys " me, sir. I'll — I'll turn him out! 

Mid. Well, he hasn't turned out himself quite as you fancied he 
would, eh ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! Who was right in his system now, eh? 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! [as he is laughing, Charley is heard) 



''OUR BOYSr 33 

Char, {without, R.) My darling, I'll put the whole matter right 
in a moment. 

Enter CHARLEY, holdingV \Q\.¥.'i' 's> hand, c.,fro7n K.', pause abruptly 
on seeing the others. 

Mid. W-w-vvhat's this, Charles Middlevvick ? Who is this you 
are 

Char. This, father, is my wife, or willh^, when I have your con- 
sent. 

Mid. [overcome with rage) Why, you confounded 

Sir G. [taking up same^ione) Insolent, presuming young upstart, 
why, I 

Mid. [in rage, to Sir Geoffry) Don't bully my son, sir ; don't 
bully my son — that's my department. 

Sir G. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Finely your system has succeeded, eh? 
Ha! ha! ha! 

Mid. We're insulted, defied, both of us. {excitedly') Turn your 
disobedient cub adrift if you've the courage to stick to your prin- 
ciples. 

Sir G. And kick out your cad of a lad if your sentiments are not 
a snare and a delusion. 

Charley and Violet, Talbot and Mary, all in a state of sup- 
pressed excitement, have been earnestly talking in an undertone 
during the blustering row of the fathers — Clarissa enters. 

Mid. So I will, sir, so I will. Charles Middlevvick, madam, that 
boy's no longer any son of mine. If you accept him you blight 
his prospects. 

Clar. Mr. Middlewick, are you aware that Miss Melrose is 

Sir G. [violently) Don't you dare to interfere, madam. 

Vie. I have accepted him, sir, and I will not blight his pros- 
pects. 

Middlewick overcome with rage. 

Sir G. [to Talbot) And as iox you, you impostor! 

Tal. That'll do. I won't trouble you any longer. I'm off. 

Sir G. Off, sir ! where ? 

Tal. That's 7ny business. 

Char, [taking T KL.v,OT % hand) Yes, ^//r business. 

Mid. Oh, yes — you can go with him if you please, and a good 
riddance. 

Sir G. Go — go and starve. 

Tal. That we can do without your permission, anyhow. You've 
kicked us out, remember, father, because, being grown men, we've 
set our affections where our hearts have guided us — not your 



34 '-OUR Bovsr 

heads. And — and — Charley, finish it, I'm not an orator, and 
don't want to be. 

Char, [to girls) We'll prove ourselves worthy of you by our own 
unaided exertions, and will neither oi us ask you to redeem your 
promise till we've shown ourselves worthy of your esteem. We 
can get our living in London, and rely upon ityouil never hear of 
our distress should we suffer it. 

Clar. [distressed) Talbot, my dear nephew, you 

Sir G. [violently) Hold your tongue ! 

Vio. [half crying ; to the fathers) You're a couple of hardhearted 
monsters, and I don't know which I hate the most. 

Mary. No — nor which is the uglier of the two. 

Charley taking farewell of Violet, kisses her hand— Talbot 
tries to get at MARY ; intercepted by his Aunt. 

Sir G. [aside; violently shaking Middlewick's hand) You've 
acted nobly, sir — you — you're a downright Roman father. 
Mid. {reciprocating) You re another. 

The two old men shaking each other s hands violently but evidently 
overcome by mingled emotions — Talbot pushes his Aunt aside, 
and fittgs his arms round M\v.Y, kissing her audibly ; Clarissa 
falls upon ottoman ; on the jnovement of the scene. 

ACT DROP. 

Second Picture. — CLARISSA discovered fainting ; ViOLET holding 
scent bottle to her nose — Mary at back waving handkerchief on 
terrace, off, r.; Sir Geoffry iti easy-chair, overcome — Middle- 
WICK, with hands thrust deep into his pockets, standing doggedly. 

CURTAIN. 



ACT III. 

Scene. — The third floor at Mrs. Patcham's— « very shabby sitting, 
room in a third-rate lodging house — a tapping heard at the door, 
in flat, repeated, and then Belinda, a slatte?'nly lodging-house 
servant, puts her head in. 

Bel. Was you ringing ? Please, was you a (enters, carrying 

an empty coal box) Neither of 'em here. Bother them cinders, if 
I had my way with'em I'd chuck 'em out of winder instead of hav- 



''OUR BOYSr 35 

iiig to carry 'em downstairs as careful as coals. Coals ! Precious . 
few of them the young gents has, and prices a rising dreadful. 
For they are gents, if they do buy only kitchen ones and has 

'em in by the yunderd. What a fire ! it's as pinched up as [is 

about to give it a vigorous poke when she is restrained by the entrance , 
^Talbot, d. f. — he is shabby, and a great contrast to his former 
showy self) 

Tal. [sharply) Now then ! 

Bel. [turns with the poker in her hand) Eh ? 

Tal. What are you going to do ? 

Bel. Only going to 

Tal. Of course. Strike a little fire hke that, it's cowardly. 

Bel. Shall I put some more coal on ? 

Tal. Certainly not. 

Bel. You wouldn't let it go out? 

Tal. Why not? It's a free country. 

Bel. {aside) Sometimes I think they're both a little— {touches her 
head) It's too much study, that's what it is. {sweeps up the 
hearth) 

Tal. {aside) Capital girl, this ; simple and honest. A downright 
daughter of the soil, and carries her parentage in her countenance. 
{direct) Perhaps you had better put a pinch or two on. Mr. 
Middlewick will be in directly, {she goes into room) He'll be cold, 
poor fellow, though, of course, he'll swear he isn't. I'm getting 
uneasy about Charley. Ever since I was seedy, and he sat up so 
much with me I've noticed a change in him ; if he doesn't improve 
I shall — {crash of coals heard) There's a suspicious, not to say a 
shallow, sound about those coals. (Belinda enters with shovel of 
coals) 

Bel. I tell you what, sir, your coals are dreadful low. 

Tal. Low ! Blackguardly, /call them ! 

Bel. I can easily order some more when I go to Loppit's ! 

Tal. Just so. Whether Loppit would see it in the same light's a 
question. There is already a trifling account which 

Bel. Oh, Loppit can wait. 

Tal. He ^«;z— SHORT weight. By the way, I saw some boxes in 
the hall. 

Bel. Yes, missus has gone out of town for a fortnight, and 

{is about to put on the lot of coal) 

Tal. Gently — a bit at a time, {takes up a piece with the tongs) 
There — there — {business) I say, Belinda, if Loppit were to call his 
coals " not so dusty" it would be paying them a comphment, 
wouldn't it ? 
Bel. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, you are a funny gent, you are. 

As Talbot makes up the fire Charley enters, d. f. — he too is 
shabby, and looks worn — he carries some papers, and MSS. 



36 ''OUR BOYSr 

Char. Halloa ! Talbot, old man, what are you doing now ? 

Tal. Giving Belinda a lesson in domestic economy — you know 
a severe winter always hardens the coal-merchant's heart! 

Char. Yes, yes. {takes off gloves and hat) 

Tal. And they're simply going up like — like 

Char. Smoke ! 

Tal. There! [has done fire, stands before it, facing Charley ; 
Belinda takes back shovel vito room) I consider I make a first-rate 
fire. 

Char. Yes, you don't make a bad screen. 

Tal. I beg your pardon, {moves aside) 

Char. Don't mention it. The attitude and position are 
thoroughly insular and Britannic. It is a remarkable fact that an 
Englishman who never turns his back on the fire of an enemy 
invariably does it with his friends'. 

Tal. [aside) We've got our "sarcastic stop" on this morning, 
eh? Well, Charley, I suppose you did no good with Gripner? 

Char. I had a highly interesdng interview with that worthy pub- 
lisher. I thought you thought that the poem I commenced at 
Cologne for amusement, had some stuff in it ! 

Tal. Stuff! Ha— >//ofit. 

Char. Exactly. Partial friends have declared I had a real vein 
of poetry, but Gripner — Ha ! ha ! He — well, he disguised his senti- 
ments by assuring me poetry was a mere drug in the market. 
He'd also thrown his eye on those social sketches I'd thought were 
rather smart, but he said he knew at least fifty people who can roll 
out such things by the ream. However, he's given us a dozen 
pages a-piece for his new gazetteer. We begin in the middle of 
M — you can start at Mesopotamia, and work your way on at ten 
shillings a column, [hands him papers) It's bread and cheese ! 

Tal. I should think so. Ten shillings a column, [unfolds paper ; 
printed sheets) By Jove, they ar-? columns though. Regular Dukes 
of York. Penny a lining's coining compared to it. I can't say at 
the moment I know much about Mesopotamia, but 

Char. I remembered old Mother Patcham had a dilapidated 
gazetteer downstairs, so I borrowed it, and you can copy the actual 
facts. 

Tal. Just so. Put it all in different language. 

Char. Yes, the more indifferent the better. 

Tal. Her book's about twenty years old ; nevermind — I'll double 
the population everywhere — that'll do it. 

Char. Talking about population, I've had an interview with the 
agent for emigration to Buenos Ayres — he rather pooh-poohed us 
as emigrants. They don't want gentlemen. 

Tal. We don't appear in particular request anywhere. It seems 
absurd to be hard-up in the Cattle Show week. 

Char. Our governors are up in town, I'll swear. 



''OUR BOYSr 37 

Tal. Mine never missed the show for forty years. I can see him 
critically examining the over-fed monsters — punching the pigs and 
generally disturbing the last hours of the vaccine victims. 

Char. Whom I envy. What a glorious condition is theirs — fed 
on the daintiest food — watched and waited on hke princes — 
admired by grazing — I mean gazing crowds, and 

Tal. Eventually eaten, don't forget that. I'llgoasfaras the 
sheep with you, they can do what we can't. 

Char. What's that? 

Tal. Get a living out of \\\€\x pens. 

Char. Beginning to joke now. You're a changed being, Talbot. 

Tal. Yes. Genuine " hard-upishness " is a fine stimulant to 
the imagination. The sensation of four healthy appetites a day, 
with 

Char. The power of only partially appeasing two 

Tal. Exactly — makes a fellow 

Char. Thin. Our cash is assuming infinitesimal proportions, 
Talbot. We must still further reduce our commissariat. I've 
been calculating, and I find that henceforth bacon at breakfast 
must be conspicuous by its absence. 

Tal. Bacon — the word suggests philosophy, so with many thanks 
for past favors, " bye-bye, Bacon." 

Char. When we first parted with our convertible property, we 
had hope in our hearts and cash in our money box. Now things 
don't look rosy we must bow to circumstances. " Tempora 
mutantur. " 

Tal. " Et nos mutamur in illis." 

Char. Which being loosely translated 

Tal. Means that we must give up the Times and take in the 
Telegraph. 

Char. We've parted with a good many things, Talbot, but 
we've stuck to one — our word. We've never appealed to a rela- 
tion. 

Tal. Except, of course, a certain avuncular relative who 

Char. Shall be nameless. Just so — but our governors must have 
discovered by this time that our determination was no empty 
boast, and Violet and Mary have never heard a word from either 
of us. No one can say we've shown the white feather. 

Tal. One minute — I must clean my boots, {takes up boots, and 
brings blacking-bottle from comer with a bit of stick in it, and boot 
brushes') 

Char. Why on earth do you always begin to 

Tal. {blacking boot) Always begin to clean my boots when you 
talk about Violet and Mary ? Because I feel it's necessary at the 
mention of their names to work off my superabundant and irre- 
pressible emotion. I feel if I don't have ago in at my boots, I 
shall do some awful — {begins to brush violently) Now go it! 



38 ''OUR BOYS'' 

Char. Do you know, Talbot, I could almost swear I saw Violet 
to-day ? 

Tal. You don't say so ! 

Char. And I vow I saw Mary. 

Tal. Hah ! [brushing with tremendous violence) 

Char. I don t think they saw me, but 

Tal. («/ the boot) What a shitie there'll be in a moment ! 
Char. For I dodged behind a cab and 

Enter, Belinda, d. f. 

Tal. And got away without 

Bel, [brusquely) What are you doing of? Drop them boots. 

Tal. Belinda! 

Bd. / clean the lodgers' boots. And it's my place to clean 
yours — if you are a third floorer, [takes boot and brush from Tal- 
bot) 

Tal. {aside) A third floorer ! 

Char. Belinda, don't talk as if you were reporting a prize fight. 

(Belinda cleans boots) 

Tal. And deal gently with the heels ; they won't be trifled with. 

Char. I've got a deuce of a headache, Talbot, and as I want a 
good afternoon's dig at the gazetteer, I'll go and he down a bit in 
my den. 

Tal. Do. I heard you walking up and down the room half the 
night; you're getting //// 

Char. Not a bit, old man, not a bit. [goes towards door) Nerves 
a little shaky, that's all— that's all. Exit, D. F. 

Bel. I tell you what — it's my opinion J^'^^<t wasn't half as ill as 
you'll soon have Mr. Middlesex ! 

Tal. Middlewick, BeUnda. It's the natural obstinacy of your 
nature to call people out of their names. My name being Champ- 
neys, you call me Chimneys — had it been Chimneys you'd have 
had it Chimbley, of course, (aside) She's right, though. I'll go 
and ask Barnard to come round and see him. [takes up hat) I 
shall be in soon. By the way, those breakfast things are not an 
ornament — if, in a lucid interval, you should feel disposed to take 
them down stairs, I shall not feel offended. Exit, D. F. 

Bel. He's a queer young gent, that ; so are both of 'em. But, 
somehow, I've took to 'em — took to 'em /r^mendous. I wonder 
who they are. I'm sure they're getitlemen 'cos they can't do noth- 
ing for a living. Then they don't bully a poor lodging-house 
slavey. "Slavey" — that's what they call me, but, somehow, it 
don't seem rude like from them. Missis says they're " under a 
cloud," she thinks, and she's always in a regler fluster every 
Saturday till they've paid their rent. Ha, well, they knows their 
own business [the door in fiat opens and Sir Geoffry enters, then 



''OUR BOYSr 39 

MiDDLEWiCK — Belinda is placing the things on tray) best, I sup- 
pose. Couldn't stand by and see him a blacking his 

Sir G. He-hem! (Belinda 5/«r/^) 

Mid. [pother side of her) He-hem! 

Bel. Bless us, who -ea^ you? [retires up a little) 

The two old gentlemen look round the rooin with a rueful expression 
of countenance, then they look at each other blankly. 

Mid. Well? 

Sir G. Well ! 

Mid. A — here we are. 

Sir G. Confound it, sir, don't talk like a clown. 

Mid. I won't, [aside, miserably) I don't feel like one. Panta- 
loon, and a worse treated one than ornei*y's more in my way a 
deal. 

Sir G. Why — why it's a mere garret. 

Mid. Where did you expect to iind *em ? At Claridge's Hotel ? 
or the Langham ? Perhaps you hoped to see 'em driving mail 
feea.tons in the Park, or a lolling out of a swell club winder in Pall 
Mall. Garret as you call it, / don't see as it's so oncomfortable. 

Sir G. [in broken voice) I'm glad you think so, sir, I'm glad you 
think so. 

Mid. [aside, in tone of pity) Poor dear boy, to think he should 
have come to this ! 

Sir G. [affectiiig harshness) Not that I relent in any way. Oh, 
no, no. 

Mid. [assuming same tone) Nor I, nor I ! As they make their 
beds so they must lie. 

Bel. [overhearing) Bless your 'art, sir, they never make their 
own beds. 

Mid. He-hem ! [aside) The servant. The very image of the gal 
as waited on me when I lived in a attic in Pulteney Street. It's 
my belief as nature keeps a mould for lodging-house servant gals 
and turns 'em out 'olesale hke buttons. She's the identical same 
gal — same to a smudge, [to her) These young men here, are they 
pretty comfortable and all that? 

Bel. [aside) Pumping! Who are they? [to them) Pretty well. 

Mid. Do they — do they dine at home ? 

Bel. No — they breakfusses I 

Sir G. Oh, they breakfusses. Is that — or rather was that their 
breakfast ? 

Bel. Yes. 

Mid. [aside; taking up egg) Shop 'uns. Sixteen a shilhng. / 

knows 'em. [puis it down) To think Charley should have to 

[breaks down) 

Sir G. [through his glasses) Good Heavens ! what dreadful look- 
ing butter ! 



40 ''OUR BOYSr 

Mid. {faintly) Dossit — my dear sir — inferior Dossit ! [aside) 
Precious inferior. 

Sir G. Dorset, man, Dorset. 

Mid. {in rage) Come here, I say, you know — you may be at home 
in all matters of /^etiquette, and gene//allogy — and such like, but 
dammy, do let me know something of butter. I tell you that it's 
Dossit — Dossit — that's what it is — and what's more it's a two bounce 
pat! 

Sir G. {stiffly) On such a minute matter of professional detail I 
cannot, of course, attempt to argue, {goes up) 

Mid. {aside) Now that's all put on. Inside he's a suppressed 
^earthquake. He's a longing to throw his arms round his boy ; 
but he wants me to give in first, {talks aside to Belinda) 

Sir G. {aside, up) His rage is only a safety valve for his pent-up 
affection; poor fellow, he'd like me to propose a truce, but it's 
not for a man in my position to succumb to sentiment. I've only 
to wait, and his feelings, which are stronger — I may say coarser 
than mine, are sure to melt. 

Mid. {to Belinda) And how's their appetites — pretty 'arty? 

Bel. Fine. 1 often hear 'em telling one another what they've 
had for dinner, but when I see the way they devours their tea — do 
vou know, I sometimes fancy 

Mid. Yes? 

Bel. As they've had no dinner at all. 

Mid. {after slight pause, in a low voice) No — no dinner at all. 
{turns aside, and places his hand at his heart for a moment, shading 
his eyes with his other one) Here — you seem a decent young woman 
— here's a half-sovereign — not a word. We're friends oi friends of 
these young men. Speak out truthfully. Did you ever hear them 
speak of — of their relations ? 

Sir G. Yes, y^'s, friends, belongings — a — speak out! 

Bel. Oh, yes, and more than once, by accident — for I ain't got 
time for listening — I heard 'em say they'd rather starve than write 
to 'em. 

Mid. {overcotne) Did they — did they ? 

Sir G. {proudly) That was firmness — pride ! 

Mid. From your point of view. Being a tradesman, / call it 
obstinacy. 

Sir G. Fostered in jj/^z/r case by a system of absurd laxity. 

Mid. {aside) And that to the man as he called a Roman father! 

Bel. But at one time — when one of 'em was taken ill- 
Sir G. 

Mid. 

Sir G. Ill ! Ill, girl— not very ill? 

Mid. {almost fiercely) Which was it ? 

Sir G. Yes — speak, woman — which — not — not — the shorter one, 
the one with the light hair, who 



I What! 



''OUR BOYSr 41 

Bel. Yes, him. 

Sir G. [overcome ; in broken voice) But he — he^<7/ better? 

Bel. Yes. Thanks to the other gent, who waited on him hand 
and foot, and never took his clothes off for a week, looking after 
his friend and attending to him for all the world as if he'd been his 
brother. 

Sir Geoffrey goes to Middlewick, grasps his hand, with a sob 
aside — MiDDLEWiCK silently returns the grasp, each holding head 
down . 

Mid. [after pause ; low voice) And — and the other — who — who 
helped his sick friend so — so noble. 

Bel. Well, it's my opinion he's in a worse way than the other, 
though he won't own it. 

Mid. [very faintly, and in grief) No — no — [stagger's slightly back. 
Sir Geoffrey supports hhn) 

Sir G. [gently, aside to Middlewick) Come — come, old friend, 
be a man, [giving way) be a man as — as /am — don't give way. 
I'm firm — firmer than — than ever, [blows his nose to hide his emo- 
tion) 

Mid. What — what makes you fancy so ? 

Bel. Well, when he first come he was cheerful and happy, but 
bit by bit — as he got shabbier — he grew quieter like — and some- 
times I've spoke to him three or four times afore he seemed to 
know I was a speaking, and 

Mid. [aside) Poor boy ! Poor boy ! 

Sir G. [aside) And he helped and nursed Talbot — I wish I'd 
come here sooner. 

Bel. [aside) Who can they be? I don't like leaving 'em here, 
and all the lodgers' private papers about. There's a sort of County 
Court look about the short one. I've seen bailiffs enough in my 
time, and it ain't a bit unlikely as 

Sir G. Middlewick, something must be done. We — we mustn't 
forget ourselves and become maudlin, you know. 

Mid. [pullijtg himself together) No, no, certainly not. 

Sir G. After all, we did everything for them, and they showed a 
shameful return. 

Mid. [convincing himself) Yes, yes, so they did, so they did. 

Sir G. Defied us. 

Mid. No mistake about it, and when you turned 'em out 

Sir G. You turned them out. 

Mid. You suggested it first. 

Sir G. Well, well, they've eaten the leek. 

Mid. Ye-es, there ain't much nourishment in leeks, though I 
admit, relishy. 

Sir G. I see you're giving way. [sharply) You're thawing. 



42 ''OUR BOYSr 

Mid. il^ " thawring ! " not 7ne. But you was saying as some- 
thing must be done, and I says ditto. Anonymous, of course. 

Sir G. Quite so ; permit me to arrange it. Young woman, 
there's something in your face thoroughly honest — the frequent 
contact with cinders, or whatever it may be, cannot conceal your 
innate truthfulness ; your face is a picture, and I am old-fashioned 
enough not to object to a picture in a black frame. I prefer it. 

Bel. [aside) Soft sawder. Something's a coming. 

Sir G. In the first place, you mustn't say anything of our visit, 
and when the young men come in you must give them an enve- 
lope. 

Mid. Two — two //envelopes. 

Bel. {standing back) Not if I know it. [aside) A summons, of 
course, [to them) I don't know neither of you gentlemen, but I 
wouldn't do nothing as would bring any harm to our third floorers 
for nothing as you could offer me. And, perhaps, you'll be good 
enough to take back your 'arf crown. 

Sir G. [aside) Remarkable ! But I never could understand the 
lower classes. 

Mid. [aside) If that 'arf sovereign doesn't blossom into a fi-pun 
note before the day's out my name ain't Middlewick. 

Sir G. But whatever you do, don't mention that — what's that? 
some one coming up the stairs ? 

Bel. Yes. 

Sir G. We mustn't be seen. 

Mid. Not for the world. What's this? [goes to door, l.) 

Bel. That's what the gents calls their liomnium gatherum — 
where they keeps 

Sir G. Is this Talbot's — I mean, Mr. 

Bel. Chimneys' room ? yes, but you mustn't 

Sir Geoffry bolts into door, r. as a tap is heard, D. f., and shuts 
door — Middlewick is peeping into room, l., when a tapping is 
heard and a loud He-hem. 

Mid. Get us out of this without the lodgers seeing us and I'll 

{bolts into room as door in fiat slowly opens ; he does not see who it is 
— enter Miss CLARISSA, dressed in walking dress and carrying a 
reticule) 

Clar. Young woman, are the gentlemen who lodge up here both 
out? 

Bel. Yes'm. [aside) One is, and 'tother's a lying down and 
don't want worrying. 

Clar. Phew! [sits; aside) This is the servant, the young woman, 
Mr. Warrington, the detective, told me was " a good sort " — an 
odd phrase, but expressive. If I hadn't employed him the poor 



''OUR BOYSr 43 

young men might have done something dreadful, with their pride 
and their sense of independence and all that. 

Bel. Was you wanting to see either of 'em ? 

Clar. Well, no, not just now. [aside) Geoffry, after discovering 
everything by shamefully intercepting one of Mr. Warrington's 
letters, thinks to frighten me with threats of even stopping my 
allowance and turning me out of his house if I communicate with 
Talbot. Bah ! he's my own nephew, aivl he shan't starve whilst 
his Aunt Clarissa's got a penny in the world. His father may act 
like a brute, and so may Mr. Middle wick, but — ugh ! Cattle 
Shmv, indeed. Coming to stare at a collection of adipose sheep, all 
sleep and suet ; at islands of lean in oceans of obesity, called by 
courtesy cows ; and a parcel of plethoric and apoplectic pigs, their 
own sons all the while wasting away to shadows, [brings out fowl, 
ready trussed, from reticule) Mrs. Patcham's out of town, isn't 
she? 

Bel. Yes'm. 

Clar. Then there won't be any one in the kitchen? 

Bel. Not a soul, 'cept me and the beetles. 

Clar. Very good. Your fire's in, of course? 

Bel. Trust me. Missus and the fire ain't never out together. 

Clar. Very good — then follow me. 

Exit, D. F., carrying the fowl ; leaves bo7tnet on a chair. 

Bel. Here I say — [goes to D. F.) She don't mean no harm. She's 
a relation of one of the gents, she is. [listens) She skips down them 

kitchen stairs like a [a distant knock heard at fro7it door) These 

breakfast things '11 be here all day. Bother the knocker! [takes 
up things on tray ; a door slams) Oh, Mrs. RadclifTe's opened the 
front door for me. A nice woman that. Always ready to save a 
poor girl's legs. Bless my 'art, I forgot all about them two parties 
in ambush. Well, they must wait until I 

Enter, D. F., Violet, then Mary. 

Vic. This is the third floor, 1 believe. That very nice old lady 

who opened the door said that [both girls timid) 

Mary. Oh, if you please, is Mr. Champneys in ? 

Vic. Or Mr. Middlewick ? 

Bel. No, miss. 

Both. How are they ? 

Bel. Well, really — a 

Vic. They are not ill — Mr. Middlewick is not ill? 

Bel. No, miss. 

Vio. [aside to Mary) Isn't it a dreadful place ? 

Mary. Poor dear Talbot ! 

Vio. Oh, Charley ! [to Belinda) Are they likely to be long ? 

Bel. Can't say. 



44 ''OUR BOYS.'* 

Mary. Are the gentlemen out much ? 

Bel. Yes, miss. 

Vio. Late ? 

Bel. Don't know. They both has latch keys. 

Vio. Mary, we'll wait till they come in, and surprise them. 

Mary. If it's proper, [to Belinda) I suppose they never have 
any visitors? 

Bel. Well, as to that, you see 

Vio. [aside] The girl seems confused. I almost wish I hadn't 
come. I always was of a suspicious nature. I can't help it. Mary 
beheves in everybody, but I — [noise in room, R.) What's that? 

Bel. N — nothing, miss — It's a printing machine next door. 
When it's at work it throbs Hke a regler 'edache. 

Vio. Whose room's that? 

Bel. Mr. Middlesex's. 

Mary. Middlew/^f/^. I* ve a very good mind to — [moves towards 
door — Belinda hastily jumps before it) 

Bel. You mustn't go there. 

Mary, [aside to Violet) Do you see her alarm? 

Vio. Am I blind ? 

Mary. No, but perhaps we both have been, [screams at sight of 
bonnet on chair ; in a low voice to Violet) Look — look there ! 

Vio. [in horror) A human bonnet. Girl! [seizes Vi^\A^V)^ by the 
ann) Don't prevaricate. Speak the truth and I'll give you more 
money than you ever had in your life ! 

Bel. [half crying) I don't know what's a coming to everybody 
this blessed day — 1 wish missus would come back. 

Vio. Whose is this ? 

Bel. A lady's, of course. 

Vio. You hear, Mary ? 

Mary, [tearfully) Oh, don't speak to me ! 

Bel. But she's a nice sort of woman as ever lived and she says 
she's as fond of 

Vio. Of which ? 

Bel. Of both of them. 

Mary. The wretch ! 

Vio. This is no place for us, Mary, [noise heard, room, L. — with 
a half scream) That's not a printing machine. 

Mary. I will see who — I mean what' s in that room. Stand aside, 
girl. 

Bel. 'Scuse me, that's the gents' private apartment — their 
^ominum gatherum, and 

Vio. Come, Mary. We've been two fools, dear, and we 

As they go toivards D. F., Charley awrt'TALBOT enter; slight pause. 
Tal. Mary ! 



''OUR boys: 45 

Char. Violet ! Can I believe my eyes ! 

Vio. /can. And my ears. So can Mary. 

Mary. Implicitly. 

Char. But, VJolet, this is so unexpected — -— 

Vio. [sarcastically) Evidently. 

Char. So — so bewildering. So inexplicable, and 

Tal. So jolly rum ! 

Mary, [coldly) Quite so. 

Char. But how — how did you 

Tal. Did you find us out? 

Vio. Never mind. Suffice it to say, Mr. Middlewick, that 

Mary. That we have 

Vio. " Found you out:' [the girls curtsey ; the men dumbfounded) 

Char. You saw me in the street. 

Vio. Probably. We were foolish enough to think you — we 
thought your silence proof of your truth — we deceived our- 
selves 

Mary. Don't, Violet! Where's your spirit? Let us leave them 
to their own consciences, if they have any. This is evidently a 
well-trained confederate. Henceforth we are strangers. 

Vio. 6?/^r strangers. (^z'rZ? exeunt, D. F.) 

Tal. [after slight pause) What have you been saying to those 
ladies ? 

Bel. Nothink. But they called me a " coffederate." Now a 
*' cofifederate's a man as knows the conjuror and says he doesn't," 

and I'm not a going to bear it. Look here, ladies, I 

Exit, D. F. 

Charley and Talbot look at each other. 

Char. This is some conspiracy. Somebody's been vilifying us 
— they shan't leave without one w^r^ of explanation, though. 

Exit, D. F. 

TAI.BOT goes to fire-place, his back to the door of the room where his 
father is. 

Tal. The girl's don't mean it — can't mean it. Unless our deter- 
mined silence has seemed suspicious, and — slightly altering the 
poet — suspicion ever haunts the female mind — always admitting 
there is such a thing as a female mind, which I'm beginning to 
doubt, — [leans head on arm on manthpiece) 

Sir Geoffry opens door a little ; it hides him from Talbot. 

Sir G. [to himself) They've all gone. Not one syllable could I 
distinguish ; but women's voices, and at high words, were only too 
evident. This comes of leaving two head-strong lads to the temp- 



46 ''OUR Bovs:' 

tatidrts bi" the town. Oh, Talbot, I kivew you were not a genius, 
but I did hope you would never forget you were a gentleman ! 

Charley re-enters quickly ; as he does so Sir Geoffry steps back, 
nearly closing the door ; the side of the rooin is set obliquely so that 
he is perfectly visible to the audience, though unseen by those on the 
5/a^^— MIDDLEWICK. enters a little way. 

Char. Well, upon my life, they're a pretty pair. 

Mid. [aside) Ah, I was sure I heard two of 'em. 

Char, [flinging himself into a chair) A couple of beauties, I do 
think. 

Mid. [aside) So do I. A nice noisy couple whoever they were. 
Pretty acquaintances for two young chaps as bragged of their 
fidelity! 

Tal. Fact is they've got tired of waiting for us. They see we're 
poor — and are likely to keep so. What a confounded draft there 
is from that — [goes to close door of his room, r. ; Sir Geoffry 
advances', Middlevvick ent^ts further simultaneously ; both indig- 
nant) 

Mid. Sir Geoffry, you heard, of course. 

Sir G. Not a word could I distinguish, for my hearing is utterly 
faihng me. But you heard women's voices? 

Mid. Distinctly — even through the row of some confounded 
machine — a printer's, I fancy — next door. 

Sir G. Though we could not distinguish a word your female 
friends said, some of yours reached us, and but too plainly indi- 
cated the familiar terms which — Oh, Talbot, I had hoped there 
would be still something of dignity and self-denial to qualify your 
absurdly Quixotic conduct, but I was mistaken. From your birth 
I mapped out your future, and hoped and prayed it should be a 
bright one, and now I find my son, my only child, who should 
have been my joy and pride, prove himself not only wilful and 
wrong-headed — I could have overlooked that — but di profligate , and 
that, Talbot Champneys, I never 7e//// forgive. 

Char. Don't speak, Talbot; let me. So, sirs, you have been 
playing the spy upon your sons. 

Mid. Don't exasperate me, Charles Middlewick, and no smug- 
faced shamming. We'd hunted you out, ready to forgive every- 
thing, but — a — there — I knew you were thoughtless, careless, reck- 
less even, but I never dreamt you had a bit of vice in your whole 
nature. 

Char, [aside) This is too much ; the last straw breaks 

Tal. Who knows this is the last straw? After what I've heard 
recently I'm prepared for an entire stack. 

Char. You are not the only people who have misjudged us. 

Tal. No ; others who were here but recently actually 



''OUR BOYSr 4/ 

Sir G. Pray, sir, spare us the opinions of such persons. Talbot, 
I — I blush for you. 

Mid. There's no shame in you. You're worse than your com- 
panions who were here just now. 

Tal. {sharply) What do you mean by that ? 

Mid. Eh? 

Tal. Ladies whom you will mention with respect, if you please. 
If we have been ill-treated by them it is not for you, no, sir, nor 
yon {to his father) to speak slightingly of them before us. 

Sir G. {aside) Brazening it out. To think that six months in 
this abominable city should have obliterated all sense of shame, 
all sense of self-respect. Oh, London, London, what a lengthy list 
of such sad cases lies at your debasing door ! 

Char. For my part, as regards Miss Melrose 

Mid. Don't mention her. {aside) How dare he speak of that 
regler lady and true woman in the very teeth of such— bah ! 

Char. I am sorry to see you still bear a resentment in that 
quarter. 

Tal. And as I should never care for any woman but Mary 

Sir G. {indigna)itly) You insult me by mentioning her name at 
such a time. 

Tal. And as all is over between us 

Sir G. Ha! ha! I should think so. Eh, Middlewick? 

Mid. Depend upon it, the cousins know all. 

Sir G. Ay, ay, trust a woman for finding out all she wants, and 
sometimes a deuced deal more. This accounts for their suddenly 
departing for the Continent last week. 

Mid. Of course; where no doubt they're endeavoring to dispel 
their sorrow. 

Sir G. Just so. In the vortex of Parisian society. 

Mid. Strolhng up and down the bully-vards and the bord de 
boolong. Showing them sailer-faced foreigners what good, 'ole- 
some looking English gals are. 

Sir G. Yes, yes. {warming) I can see them. 

Mid. {working it up) So can I. 

Sir G. The dear creatures ! That puss, Mary, has quite wound 
herself round my heart. An artful, winning little beauty. . 

Mid. And as for the 'aughty one, we've got that friends I 
wouldn't see her wronged or insulted for — Ugh I 

Sir G. Ah I {with exclamations of disgust, they go up) 

Charley and Talbot gaze blankly at each other, both stupefied. 

Tal. Charley, does your father drink ? 

Char. No. Is lunacy hereditary in your family? 

Tal. Never heard of it. I say, football's a capital game, for the 



43 ''OUR boys:' 

feet. But the ball has a somewhat invidious and one-sided sort of 
place of it, hasn't he ? I don't care for any more abuse. 

Char. Nor I. [to the fathers) As we appear by some unfortunate 
means of which we know nothing to have grievously offended 
everybody, explanations are, of course, impossible, {with solem- 
nity and decision) But as — before such an undertaking as 

Tal. Hear ! hear ! Such an undertaking as we are about to — in 
short, to undertake. 

Char. Quiet and uninterrupted companionship is desirable in 
order to finally settle our plans regarding emigration, [both the 
fathers start) 

Tal. Just so. And you, having once turned us out, must not 

feel surprised if we [shrugs his shoulders^ and hands Sir Geof- 

FRY his hat) 

Mid. Em — emigration ! 

Sir G. Are you mad, sir ? Do you know the time of the year — 
winter ? 

Mid. Why, confound it, Charley — I mean, Charles — you're not 
going to leave me — to leave England, I mean ? What are you 
both dreaming of? 

Tal. Nothing now ; we've waked up. 

Sir G. And where would you 

Char. Queensland, or else, perhaps 

Mid. Charley, I can't bear, this ; you're a driving me desprit. If 
— if you go you'll — you'll break my heart! Darnmy, I can't play 
the Roman father no longer ! [sinks into a chair, up, l.) 

Sir G. [aside) He's given in — I knew he would. If he hadnt, I 
must have done so, and it's best as it is. He-hem ! We have been — 
a — hasty — perhaps, when we were concealed in those rooms — a — 
[breaks down) Talbot — Talbot — [Tai^bot looks at Iwn — he immedi- 
ately becomes frigid) In my case much is at stake. You are my 
son — my heir — [with severity) I — I command you to give up this 
mad notion, [he is standing in a proud and authoritative attitude — 
a contrast to Middlewick, who is sitting crushed and tearful) 

Mid. Charley — I — I — implore YOV \ [slight pause on picture, the 
young men C.) 

Tal. [coldly) I regret my inability to obey you. 

Char, [same tone) Talbot has replied for both. 

Sir G. [almost overcome^ And this— M« is the result of our 
much vaunted systems. Even a rod of iron will 

Violet and Mary have entered, d. f. 

Vic. [down, R.) Will rust. Sir Geoffry. 

Mary, [down, L ) And the truest steel may fail you when most 
you may rely on it. 

Vio. Oh, Charley, forgive me — we know all now. 



OUR boys: 



49 



Mary. And we're so ashamed of ourselves ! [the young couples 
talk eagerly) 

Sir G. [looks amazed ; to girls) Why — why aren't you on the 
Continent ? 

Mary. Why aren't you at the Cattle Show ? 

Vio. [to Charley) I never imagined you saw me in the street. 

Mid. Here, what's this? Why ain't you abroad? Yes, abroad? 
[to Sir Geoffry) I'll be hanged if we ain't. 

Vio. Fancy the two old gentlemen hiding themselves so absurdly, 
and our having such horrible 

Mary. But highly natural 

Tal. No, no, z/«-natural 

Mary. Suspicions. 

Mid. We can't have been, and yet they seem to be. Ha ! ha! 
[gives a violent start on seeing Clarissa's bonnet) 

Tal. Upon my life, Charley, that jolly old firework, your father, 
ought to be put out. 

Mid. What's that, eh? 

Sir. G. [seizing it) Yes ! No lady was ever seen in such a 
monstrosity as that. Combining as it does the concentrated incon- 
gruity of Covent Garden Market with the accumulated imbecility 
of the Burlington Arcade. 

The girls look surprised at the young men, who can t explain. 

Vio. It is a bonnet. 

Mary. And a hideous one. 

Mid. The question is, whose is it ? 

Enter Clarissa, d. f. 

Clar. Mine, if you please — don't crush it. [comes down, takes it) 

Girls. Miss Champneys ! 

Tal. Aunt! 

Sir G. [severe again) So, Clarissa — madam, you not only come 
up to town against my express commands — but — but in an article 
of attire which is simply 

Mid. Loud—o\^, yes, you're a highly sensible woman, but it w 
loud. 

Clar. That's your opinion. / paid Mr. Warrington to discover 
my nephew, and notwithstanding your threats, Geoffry, I preferred 
to brave your anger rather than share your regret, when you had 
perhaps found your son — the victim of a severe father's system — 
either in the streets or gone Heaven knows where. My dear 
nephew— Mr. Middlevvick, [shakes hands) I've heard how you 
behaved to him. But you're two scarecrows. I've got a fowl at 
the kitchen fire, and as it's only enough for two, we'll all go round 
to luncheon at Sir Geoffry 's hotel, whilst j<?« 



50 " OUR BOvsr 

Mid. Polish off the poultry. Brayvo ! 

Sir G. [severely) What, sir .? 

Mid. It's no good, don't look severe, Sir Geoffry. [goes to him) 
It don't suit you. 

Sir G. [chafing) But my own sister — a Champneys, cooking a 
fowl in a lodging-house kitchen, and I'm positively certain spoiling 
it — defying my authority and 

Vie. [has slipped her arm through his) Sir Geoffry, dear Sir 
Geoffry, don't you think we've all been a little wrong ? 

Sir G. [pleased) Eh? 

Vio. You, especially ? 

Sir G. [huffed) He -hem ! 

Vio. And that we all ought to beg each other's pardons? 

Mary, [other side) Yes, dear Sir Geoffry, and promise to forget 
the past, and never do so any more ? 

Vio. Eh, Sir Geoffry ? [squeezing his arm) 

Mary. Eh, dear Sir Geff. ? [same business) 

Sir G. [pleased, and unable to deny it) Ha ! ha ! Sir Geff. 
indeed ! [looks at each admiringly) You're a couple of syrens. I 
feel you would make me forgive anything — except that bonnet. 

Char. I must own it staggered me. I knew it couldn't be 
Belinda's. 

Both Girls, [drop Sir Geoffry' s arm) Who's Behnda? 

Tal. Ha ! ha ! A slave. 

Sir G. What ? 

Tal. Slave of the ring — comes when you pull the bell, you know, 
(enter Belinda) One of the best girls in England, and the best 
nurse in the universe, as /well know. 

Bel. That fowl's a frizzling itself to regler fiddle-strings. Why, 
everybody seems to know everybody else. 

Mid. [beckons her to him) Here. Have you — have you got a 
young man ? A sweetheart, you know ? 

Bel. A young man ! He ! he ! And me two-and-twenty ! 

Mid. Just so. What is he ? I mean, what's his business ? How 
does he get his hving ? 

Bel. He's a butterman. 

Mid. Is he though? Tell him to call round to-morrow at that 
address, and I'll buy him the best business in the Boro'. 
(Belinda ^6'<?5 up, dazed) Sir Geoffry, they're our own again — our 
boys. 

Sir G. No, no, somebody else's, [points to the young couples 
spooning) 

Clarissa is explaining to Belinda. 

Mid. All in good time, [laughing) You and your rod of iron, 
bless your 'art, it wasn't a bar of soap. 



''OUR boys:' 51 

Sir G. [shaking hands) Ha! ha! I'm afraid so, 2ir\d yoi(—you a 
father of ancient Rome ! Ha ! ha ! Greece is more xn your line. 

Vic. [to Charley) Yes, yes, Cliarley, 1 know I was blind to my 
own shortcomings, and was haughty, headstrong, and capricious, 
whilst j/(?z/, Mary 

Mary. I don't think I've been anything in particular, and if I 
have I'm not going to admit it. 

Tal. Quite right, Mary, nothing like being thoroughly satisfied 
'wx'Cci yourself , unless it's being MORE than satisfied with me. 

Sir G. Clarissa, I was fooHsh just now. I beg your pardon. 
Talbot, dear boy — [shakes hands) Charles — {shakes hands) I — I see 
my error. 

Mid. Ha! ha! 

Sir G. [stiffly and abruptly at him) And other people's, [aside) 
I'm so happy I — but I mustn t admit it — a — yet. [to them) We 
haven't understood each other, borne with each other, we haven't 
shown sufficient of the glorious old principle of " Give and take." 
Sister, boys and girls, old friend, [to Middlewick) hot tempers, 
hasty judgments, extreme crotchets, thick-skinned prejudice, 
theory and rule run rampant, ignoring the imperfecdons of poor 
human nature — these, henceforth, we throw overboard and rise to 
brighter realms, even as the aspiring aeronaut flings away his heavy 
ballast and floats serenely through the cloudless sky. 

Melody in Orchestra swells as 

CURTAIN FALLS ON PICTURE. 




H. THEYRE SMITH'S PLAYS. 

Price, 1 5 Cents Each. 

A CASE FOR EVICTION. One male and two female characters— light comedian, 
lady comedian and servant. Interior scene ; modern costumes ; lime of playing, 
thirty minuies. This breezy little play is so true to life that everybody enjoys it 
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CUT OFF WITH A SHILLING. Two male and one female characters- 
juvenile man, old man and lady comedian. Scene, a sitting-room ; modern cos- 
tumes ; time of playing, forty-five minutes. Anexceedingly popular play, offering 
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A HAPPY PAIR. One male, one female character — both light comedy. Scene, a 
nicely furnished room ; modern costumes ; lime of playing, forty-five minutes. A 
brisk little play, full of action and giving numerous opportunities for clever work. 
While entirely free from all "low-comedy" business, it contains enough humor 
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cither in the parlor or as a " curtain raiser" or afterpiece. 

MY LORD IN LIVERY. Four male and three female characters— light comedian, 
low comedian, old man, utility, lady comedian and two walking ladies. Parlor 
scene ; modern costumes ; time of playing, fifty minutes. An unusually bright 
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nobleman masquerading like themselves — the happy-go-lucky young nobleman 
who is mistaken for a burjlar — the comical old butler — ail have a vast deal of 
laughable by-play and business. This play w s a pronounced success in New 
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UNCLE'S WILL. Two male and one female characters — juvenile lead, eld man 
and lady comedian. Scene, a sitting-room; costumes, modern ; time of playing, 
thirty minutes. This brilliant little play is a prime favorite in both Europe and 
America, and is admirably adapted to the use of amateurs. The wit flashes 
like a diamond, and the dainty bits of humor scattered here and there keep up a 
constant ripple of pleased excitement. Each character is a star part._ The dash- 
ing young naval officer, the comical old man — in which Mr. Davidge made .i 
pronounced hit at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York— and_ the bright and 
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WHICH IS WHICH. Three male, three female characters— juvenile man, old 
man, uiility, two juvenile ladies and old woman. Scene, a studio ; costumes, 
modern; time of playing, fifty minutes. Excellent and much patronized by 
amateurs. The amusing per^flexities of the poor artist, who can not tell which of 
his visitors is the heiress and which her penniless friend— who mistakes one for 
the other — who makes love to the rich girl, supposing that she is poor, and deter- 
mines to marry her in spite of her supposed poverty— and who finally discovers 
that he has proposed to the heiress after all — combine to make this a delightful 
play. 

t'rW" Any of the above will be sent by ma il^ postpaid^ to any address , on receipt 
cfihe annexed prices. As there are several editions of these plays offered for sale, 
good, bad and indifferent^ purchasers will consult their own interests., when order- 
^ngi by specifying Roorback's edition. ..^J 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 9 Murrav St., New York 



NEW ENTERXAINMENTS. 

THE JAPANESE WEDDING. 

A costume pantomime representation of the Wedding Ceremony in Japanese high life. 
The company consists of the bride and groom, their parents, six bridesmaids, and 
the officiating personage appropriately called the " Go-between." There are 
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presents. No words are spoken. The ceremony (which occupies about 50 
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attractions may be added. Can be represented by young ladies alone, if preferred. 
Price, 25 Cents. 

AN EVENING WITH PICKWICK. 

A Literary and Dramatic Dickens Entertainment. — Introduces the Pickwick Club, 
the Wardles of Dingley Dell, the Fat Boy, Alfred Jingle, Mrs. Leo Hunter, Lord 
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AN EVENING WITH COPPERFIELD. 

A Literary and Dramatic Dickens Entertainment. — Introduces Mrs. Copperfield, 
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These " Evenings with Dickens " can be represented in whole or in part, require 
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THE GYPSIES' FESTIVAL. 

A Musical Entertainment for Young People. Introduces the Gypsy Queen, Fortune 
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THE COURT OF KING CHRISTMAS. 

A CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT. The action takes place in Santa Claus 
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RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 

ILLUSTRATED TABLEAUX FOR AMATEURS. A new series of Tableaux 
r;7««z'j-, by Maktha C. Weld. In this series each description is accompanied 
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PART I. -MISCELLANEOUS TABLEAUX.— Contains General Introduction, 

12 Tableaux and 14 Illustrations. Price, 25 Cents. 
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HELMER'S 

ACTOR'S MAKE-UP BOOK. 

jd, ^rattical and Systentatic Guide to the Art o/ Making up J'or the Stage, 



PRICE, 25 CENTS. 



With exhaustive treatment on the Use of Theatrical 
liViGS AND Beards, The Make-up and its requisite materials, the 
different features and their management, typical character 
Masks, etc. With Special Hints to Ladies. Designed for the 
use of Actors and Amateurs, and for both Ladies and Gentle- 
men. Copiously Illustrated. 

CONTENTS. 

I. Theatrical Wigs. — The Style and Form of Theatrical Wigs 
and Beards. The Color and Shading of Theatrical Wigs and Beards. 
Directions for Measuring the Head. To put on a Wig properly. 

II. Theatrical Beards. — How to fashion a Beard out of crep6 
hair. How to make Beards of Wool. The growth of Beard simu- 
lated. 

III. The Make-up. — A successful Character Mask, and how to 
make it. Perspiration during performance, how removed. 

IV. The Make-up Box. — Grease Paints. Grease painti, in 
sticks; Flesh Cream; Face Powder; How to use face powder as a 
liquid cream ; The various shades of face powder. Water Cos- 
in^tique. Nose Putty. Court Plaster. Cocoa Butter. CrSpe Hair 
ar^d Prepared Wool. Grenadine. Dorin's Rouge. "Old Man's" 
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V. The Features and their Treatment. — The Eyes : blind- 
ness. The Eyelids. The Eyebrows : How to paint out an eyebrow or 
moustache ; How to paste on eyebrows ; How to regulate bushy eye- 
brows. The Eyelashes : To alter the appearance of the eyes. The 
Ears. The Nose : A Roman nose ; How to use the nose putty ; A 
pug nose ; An African nose; a large nose apparently reduced in size. 
The Mouth and Lips : a juvenile mouth ; an old mouth ; a sensuous 
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VI. Typical Character Masks. — The Make-up for Youth : 
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Clowns. 

VII. Special Hints to Ladies. — The Make-up. Theatrical 
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^ Sc7it by mail, postpaid, to any address, on receipt of the price. 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 

9 Murray Street > New York. 



